Fire Eternal
by Levi Matthews
Summary: A Skyrim Epic. Yol Unslaad, Fire Eternal. Fate finds itself in the hands of a few brave souls. Will they survive the coming fire? Or will all be swept away when the World Eater returns? Dovahkiin/Sylgja
1. Prologue: Disbelief

Prologue: Disbelief

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**Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with Skyrim or the Elder Scrolls series. All credit for this story goes to the wonderful minds at Bethesda.**

**Song Credit: The majority of this chapter was written while listening to Could This Be Real by Sub Focus. God Bless Sub Focus.**

**This story is dedicated to the guys over at UESPWiki. I can't imagine having written any of this without the help of their wonderful site. Many thanks. **

* * *

Forty-seven years ago. 4th Era 155. Middas the 3rd, Last Seed.

* * *

_She was in the midst of archiving the alteration texts when she heard the cry._

_Few were permitted within the Ada-mantia, or the Adamantine Tower, as it had become known by the local Bretons. Of those selected to walk within its walls, all were master mages in one field or another. It was considered the highest honor for those of the school of Julianos to become archivists within its hallowed halls. Within the island fortress, High Rock's greatest mages collected and safeguarded tomes of magical importance and historical significance. It was the largest library in existence, possibly only rivaled by Hermaeus Mora's personal Oblivion plane, the Apocrypha. Only the most talented and gifted in the magical arts were asked to join the archivists within the Ada-mantia's walls._

_When Allora Ashwing, master conjurer of the College in Daggerfall, was summoned to replace an archivist that had finally passed from Mundus, she had all but wept at the prospect. It was the opportunity of a lifetime._

_Well into her third year in the confines of the tower, Allora was all but dead from the boredom._

_Nothing happened in the Tower. The most stringent security measures assured that fact, put in place by the Archmages of old. The guards were massive brutes, encased in shining adamantium plate and heavy orcish mail. They carried glaives of enchanted ebony that stood half again as high as the men who held them. The tower guard numbered over three-hundred men, all of them elite warriors conscripted from High Rock's armies. It was regarded as fact that the Isle of Balfiera, the home of the Tower, was impregnable by any mortal army. _

_Yet, when Allora heard the cry, she wondered if some infiltrator had struck a magical trap._

_She left the archive room she had been assigned to, one of over thirty library sized spaces, and stepped out into the hall. The sound was coming from deeper into the tower complex, if her ears were leading her correctly. It almost sounded as though... no, that was not possible. It was forbidden._

_Allora slowly walked down the hall and toward the center of the large fortress. The halls were silent stone, with magical lamps set in walls sconces every few feet. The light permeated the space, but it wasn't comforting. No, after years of walking the tower's halls in silence, Allora Ashwing found the bright, magical lights as oppressive as any prison bars._

_The walls, lined with large, reflected mirrors, showed Allora what she looked like. A Breton woman, barely in her mid-thirties, shrouded in the dark blue and gold robes of the College. The hems of her robes kicked up small pockets of dust as she walked. She took hesitant steps, as though dreading what would happen if she moved any faster. The hallways, though wide and unnecessarily high, seemed ready to close in on her. Allora knew she hadn't been claustrophobic before moving to the Tower, but the situation had since changed after her arrival._

_The mirrors showed Allora other things as well. She saw her frightened, worry-lined face, no longer youthful by any means. She had been beautiful once, for the briefest moment of her younger twenties, when her pale skin had finally started to discard the fat of youth. What had been revealed underneath was a hard-faced woman with stunning, narrowed features and hair as black as night. Her potential suitors had almost doubled in number, but Allora had no time for it. Her work was her life and nothing would separate her from it._

_Years later, Allora had begun to regret her decision to remain in studious solitude. Her number of friends decreased as the years went on, as did her beauty. The years of study and magical practice were taking their toll. It showed in her face when she sighed from weariness. It filled the dulled glow of her once soft, hazel eyes. Allora was a shell of her former self, and no amount of skill in magic could replace the years she had lost. _

_All the years. Family taken by plague. A dull social life. No husband and a few, unsatisfying lovers. Atronachs and summoned Daedra were no substitute for social contact. Even worse, Allora had discovered that she was unable to bear children. No children..._

_In an act of desperation, she had prayed. For two years she prayed to Mara, to Dibella, to Akatosh, to Kynareth. She had prayed to all the Nine for deliverance, for a chance at a life that seemed long since stolen away. Two years and not a prayer answered. The Gods preferred their silent vigil, it seemed._

_Another cry shook the conjurer from her thoughts. It was coming from the innermost sanctums, from the bastion deep within the mortal made fortress that concealed the true Ada-mantia. The massive, imposing fortress, for all its history and vast libraries filled with tomes of arcane knowledge, paled to the Tower within the Tower._

_The true Ada-mantia was vast column of god-forged metal that protruded from the earth from the highest point of the island. It was impossible to know how many rooms or floors the Ada-mantia contained, as none had ever been able to open it. No weapon could scratch its surface and not even the most powerful spells could penetrate the impossibly strong magical barrier it generated. One could not dig beneath, for the Tower descended deep into the ground and none dared to brave the depths in order to discover its secrets. _

_The tower was a complete and total mystery, aside from the fact of its existence. Its construction marked the beginning of all mortal history. Legends told of how the Ada-mantia once held the counsel of the Gods before the creation of the mortal realm. The stories spoke of how Magnus, the first Arch-Mage and the deity responsible for all magic in Mundus, created the Ada-mantia with a thought. Other tales told of how Lorkhan's heart had been cast from the tower after his betrayal of the Aedra. Many were the theories associated with the Ada-mantia, but none could really be certain of the truth. _

_Allora's pace quickened as yet another cry split the air. She was getting closer. It almost sounded as though it was coming from the central chamber. That was impossible, surely? The fortress was nearly two-thousand years old. In that time, no one had ever breached the inner sanctum. _

_The crying grew louder as she made her way to the great door, the only door that led to the central chamber. Two of the menacing guards stood before it, their glaives held proudly at their sides. They looked at Allora with confused glares, wondering what the newest archivist was doing away from her post. She hadn't left it in over three years, after all._

_"Away from this place," a Redguard with hard brown eyes told her. "You are not allowed entry."_

_"Not without the High Chronicler," the Orc across from him agreed. He was a brute among brutes and his graying beard was long and braided. "Go back to your station, female."_

_Allora stared at them. "Do you not hear that cry?" she asked angrily. "How can you stand there like that! Someone is in there!"_

_The guards looked at one another. "There is no sound from the inner sanctum," the Redguard said warily. "Perhaps you should get some rest. You hear things that are not there."_

_"I will escort you," the Orc offered. He took a step toward Allora, extending a gauntlet for her to take._

_She did nothing of the sort. "How can you not hear it!" she demanded. It was baffling. The cry was almost a shriek now, one that pierced the air. Again and again, her ears heard it._

_The Orc took another step forward, intent on taking her arm himself. "Come, I will-"_

_"What is this, then?"_

_The Breton, Orc and Redguard turned. At the mouth of the hallway stood the High Chronicler Vertius Cado, wearing his simple white robes of office. The wizened Imperial wore a smile on his lined face, and his golden eyes were all but lost in wrinkles. The hood of his robe sat unworn around his neck. Allora wondered if the High Chronicler was cold without it, considering the ancient mage had no hair on his head to speak of._

_"I heard a commotion," Vertius said as he shuffled forward. He leaned on his mithril-plated staff as he moved and it clicked lightly against the flagstones. "It has been such a long time since any commotion has occurred within these walls. I was curious."_

_Allora dropped to one knee and bowed instinctively. In her three years as an archivist, she had only ever seen the High Chronicler twice. The guards stood at attention and straightened their glaives so that the blades were perfectly vertical. _

_"Curiosity is one of our best traits," Vertius said. He didn't acknowledge the guards or the bowing mage in any way. "It prompts us to find the means to explore the unexplored. It's the starting point to discovery. It has a hand in all history, from the Dawn Era onward. Perhaps even before that." He smiled and placed his left hand on Allora's shoulder. "But I suppose that curiosity has a hand in some strange decisions as well. What brings you here, my dear?"_

_Allora looked up into the old mage's eyes. "High Chronicler, I heard a cry coming from the inner sanctum. I hear it now. Someone is in there, and I believe they require help."_

_A look of puzzlement crossed Vertius' wrinkled brow. "A cry, my dear? What sort of cry? A cry for help?"_

_"No sir. It sounds to me like the cry of a child."_

_Vertius looked at the guards. "Well, what are you waiting for? Open those doors, and be quick about it!" He rapped his staff against the flagstones for emphasis._

_The guards looked at one another again, unsure of what to do."High Chronicler," the Orc began, "We haven't heard anything down here. There aren't even any rats that call these walls home._

_"The woman is clearly delusional," the Redguard asserted. "She hears things that do not exist."_

_"I hear it!" Allora shouted over them, "Even now, the wailing continues!" The Breton woman looked up at the High Chronicler, her eyes pleading. "Please, my lord, you must hear it. How can you not?"_

_The ancient mage chuckled. "My lord? Dear girl, I have never been a lord, so do not start now." His brow wrinkled and he looked at the large doors. "And I confess, I hear nothing but our voices. This tower has been silent since I arrived. Most peculiar..." Vertius trailed off, a strange look in his eyes._

_"We will remove her," the Orc said. He moved to reach for her, but a sharp rapping of the High Chronicler's staff stopped him short._

_"You will do nothing of the sort," he ordered. His voice radiated authority, even in his advanced age. He looked down and gestured for Allora to rise. Warily, the Breton complied. "Tell me, dear child, do you really hear this cry, this pleading? Be truthful."_

_Allora swallowed nervously, but she nodded her confirmation. "I do indeed, High Chronicler. I hear the wail, as sure as I hear your voice now."_

_"Open the doors," Vertius commanded. "Let us see what ails this woman. I am curious. Most curious."_

_Hesitant__ but still compliant, the guards opened the doors. They swung open, metal grating against stone. Allora winced, but the High Chronicler seemed unfazed. He radiated authority as he stepped into the threshold of the inner sanctum, Allora trailing quietly behind him._

_It was dark within, as magical energies of any sort could not exist near the Ada-mantia for long without a mage to fuel it. The High Chancellor mage a gesture with his left hand and a ball of magical light appeared over his head and began floating lazily above him. It was bright, bright enough that Allora did not need to mimic the gesture. _

_The wailing was stronger now, more repetitive. Whatever was making the cry was close. It was almost maddening.  
_

_Vertius seemed to sense the archivist's sudden tensing. "Which way, child?"  
_

_Allora pointed deeper into the room that encircled the Ada-mantia. She could see the cylindrical core of metal in the center of the space, just beyond the edge of the flickering light. The cry was coming from somewhere near it._

_"Then let us not dally," the High Chronicler affirmed. He shuffled his way toward the Ada-mantia. Allora followed, still unsure as to what would happen. How was she the only one able to hear the cry? Was there some kind of strange magic going on? Was she mad? The questions and doubts hounded_

_When the two mages found the source a few moments later, Vertius almost dropped his staff. Allora was less surprised. She had known, hadn't she? How could she not have?_

_Disbelief. Scholars had identified the definition of the word to mean the refusal or inability to accept something as being real. There were few instances in Allora's life when she had borne witness to the look of disbelief on the faces of others. The time she had conjured her first storm atronach at age twelve was a particularly strong memory. _

_Allora added another memory of disbelief to her archives when she walked out of the inner sanctum, High Chronicler Vertius behind her. The looks on the faces of the guards would have been humorous had she been paying any attention to them. They could not believe what they were seeing._

_The Breton had a sleeping baby in her arms, all bundled in a cloth of shining silver._

_Vertius walked slowly behind her. His wrinkled face was split with a wide grin and the High Chronicler's eyes gleamed under the magical light that still floated above him__._

_The ancient Imperial chuckled and watched as Allora stared down at the sleeping babe with shining eyes. _

_"Most curious," he breathed. "Most curious indeed."_

* * *

Present Day. 4th Era 200. Loredas the 28th, Evening Star.

Five days before the advent of Morning Star, year 201

* * *

The day was warm, but in a pleasant way. Whiterun Hold had a more temperate climate than that of the Rift. And getting fitted for her new armor, Sylgja was thankful for the good weather.

"How's the fit?" Adrianne asked, her arms folded. The Imperial woman stood almost as tall as she did, clad in her long red working dress and blacksmith's apron. Working the forge had added a layer of dark soot to her face. A bit had managed to make its way into the braids of her long, sandy brown hair. The Imperial looked every bit a Nord at the forge and it showed in her craftsmanship.

Sylgja finished clasping the last buckle on her steel armor and looked into the long mirror. The smith and her customer were inside the shop, away from the heat of the forge. "It's great," Sylgja said with a genuine smile. Though the armor was new and heavy, it was already a major improvement over the bulky and ill-fitting iron set she had been using. "Worth every coin."

Adrianne's usual stoicism vanished almost instantly. "It's not often I get adventurers who come in for upgrades. Glad to see that the lifestyle is treating you well."

"Well enough," Sylgja agreed. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't surprised with myself." She bent and flexed in the new set of nordic steel. It was as good a fit as she'd ever worn. The steel was protective yet easy to move in, an excellent choice for a girl swinging a warhammer. Sylgja quietly admired the Nordic artistry and intricate set of patterns set into the armor. Now she felt like a warrior, a real Nord.

"Your new hammer is cooling out front," Adrianne said. "I think you'll be pleased with how well it turned out. I know I am."

"Let's got take a look," Sylgja said, giving herself once last glance in the mirror. She saw a woman, not yet into her twenty-eighth year, who had dark brown hair down past her ears and soft, light skin. Her pale lips hardened into a frown as she saw the dirt on her face. When was the last time she had bathed? Eight damn it all...

She followed Adrianne out into the mid-day sun and over to the forge. Her new armor clinked together as she walked, but in a way that was a lot quieter than her old set. Sylgja suppressed a smile. _Maybe now Derkeethus will shut up about how loud I am when I move._

It was as if Adrianne could read her thoughts. "Your Argonian friend went up to Dragonsreach while you were getting changed. He said something about, 'showing those half-wits how it's done.' I assume he's talking about the archery competition Jarl Balgruuf is hosting today."

Sylgja groaned aloud. "Derkeethus can't resist showing off. Or spending our gold, for that matter."

Adrianne managed a small smile. "Well, let's see if this will cheer you up." She reached into a trough of water and pulled out a massive steel warhammer.

Sylgja's mood brightened almost instantly. "By the Eight." She trailed off, unable to find the words to describe her gratitude.

It was beautiful, a true masterwork of forging. Stunning scroll work and patterns were worked into the hammer's head, which ended in a sharp point on either end. Adrianne handed the weapon to Sylgja. The warrior was surprised by not only how balanced the weapon was, but also by how much lighter it was compared to her old iron hammer.

"I don't get a lot of requests for custom warhammers," Adrianne explained as Sylgja inspected the weapon. "So I gave it my all. I call it Shieldbane."

Sylgja ran a hand across the freshly cooled metal. "Shieldbane, I like it."

"It's probably one of my best pieces, and I'm not just saying that."

"I know you're not," Sylgja said as she hefted her new weapon onto her shoulder. "It's exactly what I needed. Thank you."

Adrianne's smile broadened. "You are welcome. Now, I imagine you'll want to be on your way. If not for your own sake, then to see what your argonian friend is up to."

Sylgja rolled her eyes. "He'll be fine. He knows to keep out of trouble." She glanced at her weapon and a grin spread across her face. "Now where do you keep your practice dummies and how much to rent a few?"

"They're on the side of the house, and there's no charge."

Sylgja raised an eyebrow in surprise. "No charge? I'll probably smash them to bits."

Adrianne laughed. "Feel free. I'll be honest, ever since you showed up I've wanted to see what Sylgja the Hammer is like in action."

Sylgja weighed the hammer in her hands. "Well, Adrianne," she said as her fingers eagerly gripped Shieldbane's handle.

"I don't think you'll be disappointed."

* * *

"Well, that shot was disappointing."

The Argonian's smile was as mocking as it was predatory. Derkeethus was the only of his kind to show up for the archery contest. Hist, he was probably the only Argonian in all of Whiterun Hold.

What did the warm-bloods think of him, his green scales and long, muscled tail? How did they see his pointed snout or the way his proud horns protruded from his skull and curved alongside his head over the flat patch of tissue that covered his ears? Did they fear his scaled claws or his wide mouth filled with sharp teeth?

Derkeethus was well aware of the the looks the humans were giving him. They wouldn't take him seriously until he proved himself. His posture was certainly alien to them. He stood a little hunched over, his shoulders wide. He didn't have the look of an archer. He had the look of a predator, an apex one at that. It was fitting then, that he was the only one of his kind at the contest. Derkeethus was already the top predator there.

Derkeethus glanced at the Nord that just fired, a bearded man covered from head to toe in banded iron armor. The human's arrow was stuck in a ringed target across the Dragonreach canal, and it was far from its intended mark. "Were you even aiming for the center? I couldn't tell." Derkeethus nodded over at the audience, among them Whiterun's Jarl Balgruuf the Greater. "A bit embarrassing, don't you think? I mean, there are three targets over there. You might have tried for an easier one."

The Nord rounded on Derkeethus with angry eyes. "You watch your mouth, you lizard filth."

Derkeethus rasped laughter. "And there's the famous nord bigotry. You do your kinsmen proud, barbarian."

The Nord reared up to full height, which was not inconsiderable considering that he already stood a full head over Derkeethus. "Why you little-" He curled his hand into an armor covered fist and brought it up with hurtful intent.

Balgruuf's voice cut the air like a battleaxe. "Enough! Sinmir, control yourself." The Jarl's glare was enough to give everyone pause. The Nordic equivalent of a king, Balgruuf the Greater was an intimidating sight, even slumped in a throne like he was. Long yellow hair and braided beard. The fur and finery of Jarl mixed with the large blade of a steel war axe at his belt. It was all very regal, and all very Noridc.

Sinmir dropped his hand almost immediately. "Apologies, my Jarl." The Nord skulked away, even as he glared at Derkeethus from under his horned helmet.

"So," Balgruuf said as he turned to look at the Argonian contestant. "You believe you have what it takes to best the others that have performed so far? I have seen many fine archers today." He nodded to a group of nearby warriors and hunters.

"I believe so," Derkeethus replied. He nodded at one of the archers, a nord woman with long red hair and a trio of green war-stripes painted across her face. He knew what she was, all wrapped in the leather, hide and steel of ancient Nordic hunting attire. Her armor was custom-made, and there were only a few Nords in all of Skyrim who could craft such garments. That warm-blood who worked the Skyforge, Eorlund what's-his-name, only made armor for the Companions, so it had been easy to spot. "You, Companion. What do they call you?"

The Nord woman looked a bit surprised, but she answered quickly. "Aela."

Derkeethus nodded. "Aela then. You have my respect." He glanced at the other archers, a motley collection if he'd ever seen one. "The rest of you don't."

They bristled and grumbled, muttering curses and casting vicious looks in his direction. Only two remained silent; Aela and a man hidden beneath a set of steel plate armor that had yet to try his hand.

Unlike Sinmir's ugly, slightly rusted iron plate, the silent human's armor was of expert craftsmanship. Heavily influenced by Nordic designs, the light blue of the metal was covered in swirling patterns and intricate designs. Not one inch of the human's flesh was visible. All the places where armor was minimal, namely around the knees and elbows, were wrapped in a black bodyglove of woven leather with burnished steel scales. A winged helmet sat on the man's head and it gave the rest of the armor a sharp, sleek appearance. He stood slightly apart from the other contestants, as though he was simply observing.

"Very well," Derkeethus heard Balgruuf say. The Argonian pulled his gaze away from the armored stranger and turned to the Jarl. "You may attempt to prove your worth," the Nord king asserted. "The wind is high, and the shot is distant. Best of luck to you."

Derkeethus bowed slightly, his leather armor allowing him to complete the gesture with little difficulty. "Thank you, my Jarl."

He took a moment to stretch and limber up. His arms rotated and he shifted from side to side in order to loosen his leg muscles. The leather armor he was wearing allowed him the freedom of movement required for archery. It was a fine piece, the first major purchase Derkeethus had made during his time adventuring, and it served him well. A worn look accented the dark hide used in its craftsmanship. The armor was custom made for an archer or skirmisher, as the right shoulder-pad had a raised section to guard the archer's face while firing. The armor was easy to wear as well, with a minimum amount of straps and buckles, Derkeethus was able don his armor quickly if the need arose.

"Watch and learn," the Argonian said as he stepped up to the line. Derkeethus pulled an Imperial-style recurve bow off his back. The bow, carved from strong cherry wood, was strengthened by the steel reinforcements and leather straps that covered its surface. Drawing breath, Derkeethus nocked a steel arrow into the bow and aimed. A simple yet skilled draw and release followed and the arrow was embedded in the center circle of the leftmost target.

The crowd oohed its appreciation and light clapping filled the air. The competing archers looked on in stunned silence. A light smile tugged at the corners of Aela's lips. The plate-covered stranger remained silent.

Balgruuf nodded his approval and sat back in his seat. He waved his hand for Derkeethus to continue.

Derkeethus nocked another arrow into his bow and let it fly. The right target suddenly found itself with an arrow in its middle. Another approving nod from the Jarl. The competition was his, and Derkeethus knew it.

The final arrow buzzed through the air and hit the center of the middle target. The crowd gave a roar of approval and strong applause filled the air. Derkeethus basked in the praise. Sylgja was going to be extremely pleased at how much gold he would be bringing back with him. Twenty septims turned into two hundred? That was two days worth of work, and Derkeethus had made it in mere moments.

"Very impressive," Balgruuf admitted. "You certainly have great skill, mister..."

"Arrows-From-High, my Jarl." Derkeethus bowed graciously, holding his bow out behind him and using his tail for additional balance.

Small gasps and whispered comments spread across the crowd like wildfire. The Jarl himself cast a surprised look in the Argonian's direction. Arrows-From-High was a name steeped in adventure and legend. Derkeethus kept a smile from appearing on his face.

"I am finished, my Jarl." Derkeethus stepped aside and indicated the targets with a theatrical hand. "If any think they can best my shot, let them step forward."

Aela chuckled and gave Derkeethus a small smile. "I know when I'm beat. I don't like to admit it, but I do know. You handle that bow well, Arrows-From-High."

Derkeethus grinned right back. "You honor me, Companion."

Suddenly, and to everyone's surprise, the plate-covered stranger stepped forward. His eyes were little more than narrowed black slits. He approached Derkeethus, still without bow.

The armor spoke. "You." The sound of his voice deformed to a metallic growl as it passed through the plate mask. "Loose another."

Derkeethus blinked stupidly. "What?"

"Another arrow," the armor said. "Into the air. Wherever you want. I will hit it."

Derkeethus laughed, though the sound was somewhat nervous. He had no idea what to make of the situation being presented to him. "You'll hit my arrow." The Argonian could not believe what he was hearing. "You have no bow, you simpleton."

The armor did not rise to Derkeethus' insult. "Loose another, Arrows-From-High. I will shame you."

_That_ got Derkeethus' blood boiling. He hissed and yanked an arrow from his quiver. A slight shift. An arm movement. Derkeethus' arrow was screaming across the sky.

A streak of blue shot past and cut it in half.

Derkeethus turned, his beady eyes wide. The armored stranger was looking up, his eyeless gaze fixed on the two bits of arrow that now tumbled from the sky. In his left hand was a shimmering blue bow, one made of magical energy. The bow was hard to even look at, as thought it was somewhere between realities. It was a wicked looking thing, a recurve bow that dripped as much malice as magic. It there were several places along the bow where the frame was curved into wicked points, and a quiver of magical blue arrows sat quietly on the armor's back. Both bow and quiver made a strange whistling sound as they rippled with magic, as though they were made of wind itself.

Everyone present had fallen into a stunned silence. The Jarl and his guests were looking on, wide eyed. Several of the hunters stood slack-jawed and gawking like fools. Aela could only stare. Even Derkeethus had been rendered mute by the sheer skill of the shot.

The plate-wearing archer reached calmly behind and pulled another arrow from its incorporeal sheathe. He nocked it into the mystical bow and inclined his head to look at the dumbstruck Argonian.

"Again."

Derkeethus glared at the armor and snarled. The competition be damned, he would not lose to an unknown upstart! Another of his arrows went spiraling into the air, this time in the opposite direction.

The armor pivoted and fired again. And again, his mystical arrow split Derkeethus's steel in mid-flight.

Derkeethus's bow clattered to the ground. His claws opened and closed as he struggled for words. "That's... that's not possible."

The armor flexed his bow hand and the weapon vanished into the air, along with its quiver. "The fallen scraps of your arrows say otherwise." The armor turned and bowed before Jarl Balgruuf. "My Jarl, award the Argonian his prize. He is skilled, and my magic is not sportsmanlike."

The Jarl was almost at a loss for words. "Yes. Yes of course." He waved his hand and his steward rushed forward, a weighty gold purse held tight in his grip. Though he presented it Derkeethus, (the Argonian took it without saying a word), the steward's gaze remained wide eyed and rooted on the masked stranger.

The armor returned its black gaze to Derkeethus. "Fair travels, Arrows-From-High." He then turned and nodded to the Jarl. "My lord."

Without another word, the armor began to walk down the stairs away from Dragonsreach.

* * *

"Why does Whiterun have so many stairs?"

Sylgja found her thoughts forming into words even as she left the market behind her and walked the steps to the Cloud District, Shieldbane strapped comfortably across her back. She had thoroughly enjoyed smashing up some of Adrianne's practice dummies. Even better, Shieldbane was as excellent a weapon as she could have hoped for. A gust of wind caught her hair and she brushed a lock of brown out of her eyes with an instinctive hand.

As she ascended, Sylgja's gaze rested on the gnarled, burnt branches of the Gildergreen ahead. She silently lamented the death of such a wondrous tree. She reached the top of the stairs and looked up at the Gildergreen, imagining what it might have looked like before the freak thunderstorm that had stripped it of life.

Sylgja was so focused on the tree that she barely registered the approaching figure until it was within arm's reach. Her gaze shifted to a full set of plate armor as it walked past her so quietly that she wondered if it was even real. Nobody moved that quietly in heavy armor.

The masked helm inclined its head in her direction, as if it was analyzing her. It turned away as it descended the stairs, moving with that same eerie silence. Sylgja glanced at the ornate runes carved into its surface, and she was suddenly aware that her own gear paled in comparison to the stranger's master-crafted armor. _He carries no weapons,_ Sylgja noted. Her eyes followed him until he was out of sight among the market stalls.

Distracted as she was by the strange warrior, Sylgja barely heard Derkeethus until the Argonian was alongside her, his clawed hands on his knees as he gasped for breath. "Syl... oh damn everything..."

Sylgja frowned and looked down at her friend. "What's wrong? Why are you so out of breath?" She caught sight of something hanging from the Argonian's belt. A coin purse, filled to the brim. "Where in Oblivion did you get all that gold?"

Derkeethus lifted his head and fixed Sylgja with a frantic stare. "Not important. Syl, that man in the plate armor, it was _him._"

"What are you-" Sylgja cut herself off. She knew exactly who Derkeethus was talking about. But that wasn't possible... "He's not wearing the right armor!" she exclaimed. "How can you be so sure-"

"It's him," Derkeethus insisted.

"But-"

"For Hist's sake Syl, he shot my arrows out of the sky with a _summoned bow_."

Sylgja was no longer looking at Derkeethus. She turned and ran down the stairs, her eyes searching desperately for the man who had changed her life forever.

* * *

**LM here,****  
**

**So yeah, here's the Skyrim fic. Been a while coming, but I'm happy with how it's turning out so far. **

**These characters are really fun to write. As is also the case in my Fallout 3 fic, the character base I'm working with tends to be a little bland/one-dimensional. Adding personalities to these... personalities is really enjoyable, and I hope that they come across as believable. **

**For those of you who don't know, the Adamantine Tower is known by four names. Ada-mantia happens to be my favorite, more mystical, so that's the one I chose to use the most. It's also called Direnni Tower and Ur-Tower. I was tempted to write a bit about how Akatosh and all the other Gods got together within it to discuss the events that would come to pass, but I decided against it. Gods should stay unknowable, at least in my book. Immortality is not something I'm particularly versed in. (Between you and me? I think the Divines are assholes anyway. The Daedra aren't any better, mind you, but at least they show their true colors).**

**Thanks again for stopping by. Hope you enjoyed it, and let me know what you think. **

**Levi Matthews**


	2. The Strings of Fate

The Strings of Fate

* * *

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with Skyrim or the Elder Scrolls series. All credit for this story goes to the wonderful minds at Bethesda.**

**Song Credit: The majority of this chapter was written while listening to Sunday by Moby. God Bless Moby.**

* * *

_'Fate can be a quiet thing. It operates like a thief, slow and subtle. I've seen it work that way many times. It's almost never a man in a suit of dwemer armor showing up at your doorstep. But when it is? Well, you'd better pay close attention. The gods have got some plans for you, and that's them tugging the strings of fate.'_

_- Sylgja the Hammer_

* * *

Four months ago. 4th Era 200. Turdas the 9th, Hearthfire.

* * *

Her life as a miner was probably over.

Sylgja sat on her bed, wincing as her bad leg stiffened with the movement. She sighed and yanked her pant leg up, revealing a large and twisted scar on her thigh. The skin around it was red and tough. Sylgja hated looking at it.

She began rubbing a homemade ointment on the scar in order loosen the muscle and relieve her pain. Sylgja quietly thanked the priest of Mara that had happened upon Shor's Stone a few days after her accident. The man, though still an apprentice with restoration magic, had healed her wound to the best of his ability, binding the flesh and removing infection.

Despite the priest's best efforts (she had forgotten to ask his name), Sylgja was still unable to do any real work in Redbelly mine. She had fostered hopes of speedier recovery over the last few weeks, but her ointments and potions only dulled the pain and she was running out of ingredients to make more.

_You wouldn't be as bad off as you are if you had been more careful,_ she thought as she applied the salve to her scar. The effect was immediate and gratifying; the pain was dulled and a cool sensation countered the heat coming from the wound. She would walk a little easier now.

_Think of it this way,_ she told herself, _if you had gone off adventuring like Ma you'd be in a smelly, dark cave tending to your wounds instead of in the comfort of your own home._

"If you'd gone off adventuring," she said aloud, "You'd probably be happier with your lot in life."

It was true. Mining wasn't fulfilling work. Not for her, at any rate. Sure, it had been fun as a child, learning to carve into rock and the right way to dig ore from the earth, but that was long past.

Sylgja stood and pulled up her pants. The ointment pressed against the smooth leather and made a dark spot on her trousers, but Sylgja was past caring about something as simple as a stain. She had work to do, what little she could manage, and she wasn't going to waste the day worrying about her wounds. She tucked her white miner's shirt under the trousers and secured everything tight with a simple hide belt.

A knock on her door brought Sylgja out of her thoughts. "You awake in there? It's Filnjar."

Syljga pushed a lock of brown hair out of her face. "I'll be out in a moment." She suppressed a chuckle. She could almost see Filnjar; bearded face, long grey hair and the horridly amusing bald spot he wore with pride. He was a good man, kind and successful. She knew he fancied her, not a surprise given that she was the only woman in Shor's Stone. She was tolerant of his affections as she found them somewhat endearing, and he was comfortable to be around. Too comfortable, in some cases. There was no adventure in him, and he had the tendency to look after her like she was a doll of porcelain. Beautiful, but easily breakable.

Sylgja was anything but fragile.

"Just getting myself situated," she told Filnjar. She winced a little as her leg shook with a spasm, another side-effect of her wound. The muscle was strained and damaged. When she walked it was little more than a dragging limp.

"Glad to hear it," Filnjar said through the door. "Odfel and Grogmar hit a new vein earlier last night, so we're opening a new passage. They found some strange new ore I've never seen before."

Sylgja busied herself with a cloth, wiping off the salve that stuck to her hand. "Grogmar was saying something about that. Hard to believe there's anything else down there other than ebony and iron."

"Who knows? I sent a courier out to Riften earlier. The folks at Elgrim's Elixers should be able to figure it out." He rapped his knuckles on the door in a playful rhythm. "In the meantime, we need to keep busy. You're on smelter duty and we need those fires nice and hot."

"I'll have it ready," she promised. She masked the pain in her voice with good humor. "Maybe you'll be able to actually get some work done today. The rest of your miners are probably scratching their heads without me, trying to figure out what to do." She paused. "I'll be out there in a moment, Filnjar. Don't worry about me."

Filnjar laughed warmly, but Sylgja thought she heard bitterness in his voice. "It's my job to worry. I'm heading down to see how the new passage is coming along."

Sylgja heard Filnjar walk off and found herself sighing again. Smelting was all she was allowed as of late. Her wound kept her from doing any actual digging. She took a small silver bowl from her cabinet and filled it with water from a large jug. She dipped her hands into the water and used it to clean her face.

After drying herself with a rag, Sylgja looked at her reflection in the bowl. What she saw was a slightly tanned, pretty face framed by dark brown hair that was cut in a short bob. Her brown eyes were large and expressive on her narrowed face. She saw full, pale lips, curved eyebrows and a small scar just above her right eye. Attractive, certainly. Beautiful? She didn't know. Others were a better judge of such things.

She pulled herself out of her introspection and groaned at the thought of another day of smelter work. Still, it was better than being a beggar in Riften. Sylgja grabbed her pickaxe off a nearby table. She looped into her belt, straightened her posture and limped outside.

It was warm for an early morning in the Rift, and that meant that working the smelter was going to be near unbearable. Not only was the added heat going to make the work that much harder, but her ointment wouldn't last long in the warmth. She would need to re-apply it before long. Sylgja stepped off her porch and walked over to the smelter, nodding to Filnjar as he proceeded to enter the mine.

At least the day was pleasing to look at.

Sylgja brushed a strand of hair from her face. Her hair was growing longer and she would need to cut it before long to keep it out of her eyes. Sylgja sighed and began to kindle the smelter's flames, feeding it coal and scrap wood. Sweat beaded on her brow. She had only spent minutes outside and she already knew it was going to be a long day.

A scream tore out of the mine.

Sylgja turned to see Odfel, Grogmar and Filnjar running out of the mine, their eyes wide with fear. Odfel had a nasty gash on his shoulder and Grogmar's right leg was covered in sticky webbing.

Something was skittering after them.

Filnjar looked back over his shoulder. "Somebody get that door!"

Grogmar, his Orc tusks bared in an angry snarl, ran to seal the entrance. Sylgja screamed as something rushed out of the caves to meet him. She caught only a glance of it, a glance was enough. Fangs. Eyes. Massive hairy legs. A nightmare.

Grogmar smashed the thing back with his pickaxe, his eyes red with blood-fury. Green ichor sprayed from the wound he inflicted and painted his face and clothes. The monster hissed as it retreated and Grogmar slammed the mine door shut, baring them with a large metal beam. He stumbled away from the mine, his hand clenched around the handle of his pickaxe. The two men and the mer sat on the ground as they struggled to regain composure, breathing hard.

"What happened?" Sylgja cried. "What in Oblivion-"

"Damn spiders," Grogmar said, shaking his head to clear the rage from his system. He wiped the ichor from his face and smeared it onto his shirt. "Odfel and I were-" He stopped talking and rubbed his eyes. "We were trading shifts with Lan and Berag. We were already on our way up when they started coming from the new passage we had just started." Grogmar began tearing away the webs that clung to his leg.

Odfel groaned and pressed his good hand against the wound in his shoulder. "Bastard things. Stopped to help Lan and one of the spiders put a fang into me. Filnjar pulled me away before it could hit me with a full dose of venom. Otherwise I'd be as dead as the others right now."

Sylgja's blood ran cold. "Lan? Berag?"

Filnjar shook his head. There were tears pooling in his eyes. "They were dead before they knew what was happening. I saw... I saw one of the spiders wrapping up Berag in web. By the Eight, it was horrible. It was spinning him like a children's top."

Sylgja was silent as the deaths of her friends hit her. Her hand went to her mouth and she pushed the urge to sob aside.

Odfel looked over at Sylgja, pain in his eyes. "Needs a bandage and a potion. My arm is going numb."

She nodded. "I'll be right back." She started to limp towards her house, her jaw tight. Two of her friends were dead, but the rest needed help.

Filnjar pulled himself up and started after her. "Sylgja, wait. I'll get it."

She turned, anger in her eyes. "No, you won't. I need to brew up a fresh one, and you don't know how. See to Odfel until I get back."

"I-"

Sylgja resumed her walk. "I don't need you to baby me, Filnjar." Her hands clenched into fists and she stormed off, doing her best to keep the sadness at bay.

* * *

"So the guards aren't going to do anything?" Sylgja couldn't believe what she was hearing. "It's been three days!"

The firelight crackled as the miners ate. The sun was about to go down. The four sat around the outdoor cooking fire, each of them with a bowl of watered-down soup and tired looks on their faces. None of them wanted to think about Lan and Berag. The spiders had probably sucked them dry.

Filnjar shook his head sadly and stirred his soup with a wooden spoon. "They're talking some nonsense about keeping an eye out for enemy soldiers."

Odfel snorted in contempt. His shoulder was bandaged but he still managed to be his usual uppity self. "Bunch of cowards is what they are. As if the war would ever find itself this far into the Rift."

"Damn fools," Grogmar agreed as he brought his bowl to his mouth and slurped a good portion of it down. "What good is having a mine when the people paying for the ore don't want to defend it?"

"No good at all," Sylgja said quietly. Her own bowl of soup was untouched.

Filnjar cast a wary look at Sylgja. "Eat, you need to keep up your strength if you're going to heal properly."

_It's not going to heal,_ she thought, _not unless the Divines see fit to cast a miracle upon me. _Still, Sylgja swallowed a spoonful of soup, if only to appease Filnjar.

"So what are we going to do?" Grogmar barked, as he ate from his bowl. "We can't sit around and wait for those spiders to die natural deaths."

Odfel nodded. "We should hire some mercenaries. One of us should go to Whiterun and see about having the Companions help us out."

"Whiterun is too far," Filnjar said, irritation in his voice. "The next ore cart will be here in two days, and it's at least twice that to get to Whiterun and back. If we don't get that ore before that cart shows up we won't last through the next trip." The nord blacksmith kneaded his forehead and sighed. "Besides, we wouldn't have nearly enough gold to pay the Companions for their work."

Grogmar tugged at his beard, trying to pull the solution from the graying hairs. "Mjoll the Lioness is down in Riften. She's been adventuring in these parts for years, maybe we could-"

"She's retired," Odfel said bitterly. "Lost her nerve exploring some ruin, that's what I heard. Now she struts around Riften and acts like she's helping the fight against the Thieve's Guild. Moron."

It was quiet after Odfel finished. Nobody wanted to think about how dire the situation was. Nobody wanted to abandon Shor's Stone.

"I'll do it," Grogmar said, breaking the silence. "I'll kill those spiders dead. All I need is a pickaxe."

"Don't be insane," Filnjar told him, "You have no idea how many of them are down there."

Grogmar shook his head and stood, his eyes red and angry. "I may not be a youth anymore, but I'm still an Orc. I've worked this mine for almost ten years and I'm not about to let some damn bugs keep me from my work."

"I'd go with," Odfel grunted as he rubbed the bandaged gash on his arm, "But I'm no good like this."

"Nobody is going down there!" Filnjar barked.

Sylgja gritted her teeth. "Well we need to do something! We're stuck unless that mine is clear! That's our livelihood!"

"Sylgja, we can't just-"

She couldn't believe how spineless Filnjar was being. "Our friend's bodies are still down there! Are you going to just leave Lan and Berag to rot?"

He had nothing to say to that. None of them did.

"It appears you have a problem."

The four miners turned and saw at the sound of a strange voice. Sylgja had to suppress a gasp.

A massive suit of brass-colored armor stood nearby. Broad shouldered and motionless, Sylgja had to remind herself that the stranger wasn't a statue. Patterns and symbols of foreign design scrolled across the armor and made Sylgja's head spin. Even in the dimming light the armor gleamed, a masterwork of peerless craftsmanship. The man's face was covered by a sculpted helm and grimacing metal face mask. The war mask was bisected by a metal flange that rose over the top of the helmet to create an imposing crest. It made him look even taller.

He was weaponless, as far as Sylgja could tell. Of course, that didn't make an armored stranger any less dangerous. Especially one who looked like he could snap a neck without effort.

The miners looked at each other, unsure what to make of the situation. "What's your business in Shor's Stone, friend?" Filnjar called out. He stood and glanced at Sylgja. She shrugged.

"Work," the armor said. The voice of the speaker was strange; cultured and definitely not nordic. A metallic sound accented each word. "I'm looking for a Nord. Man of the name Filnjar."

Filnjar froze. "Aye," he said warily, "That would be me."

The helmet turned and fixed Filnjar with a sightless gaze. "I'm up from Riften. Hafjorg at Elgrim's Elixirs sent me. Something about an ore sample."

Filnjar stared dumbly for a moment. "I... uh yes. That." He rubbed his forehead. "Hafjorg is going to be disappointed." His eyes dropped and the rest of the miners looked on in silence.

The armor shifted slightly. "For your sake, Nord, I pray you are not wasting my time." Filnjar paled visibly and took a step back.

"I've got the sample," he said with a bit of fear in his voice. "But the mine's been shut down. Had a run in with some frostbite spiders that forced us out three days ago. We haven't been able to get anyone to clear it out. No mine, no need to send the sample to Hafjorg. I'm sorry."

"I will not return empty handed," the armor said angrily.

Filnjar took another step back and Odfel and Grogmar rose from their seats. "I don't know what to tell you," Filnjar said. "We've no way to clear them out."

"We don't have anything without that mine," Odfel said with a glare.

The armor's head inclined slightly to one side. "If the mine were cleared, then you could resume business as normal?"

Filnjar nodded. "Aye."

"The guards aren't any help," Grogmar said with a snort.

The armor laughed, a short, condescending sound. "Are they ever?" His gaze shifted the the mouth of the mine, just up the hill. "Frostbite spiders," he murmured. "How many and how large?"

Oldfel glanced at his wound. "Didn't exactly get a good look when we were running for our damn lives."

"Three," Grogmar cut in. "At least. Maybe four. They were big, too. Big as I've ever seen them."

The armored man nodded. "Did you catch their coloration?"

"Brown," Filnjar said as he scratched the side of his face. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"The details are always important," the armor chastised. "They were brown, so I am surprised you escaped their webs." He pointed at Odfel. "Had they been white, you would not have survived the night."

Sylgja's eyes went wide. "They're different based on coloration?"

The armored man shifted his gaze to her and she suppressed a shudder. "Indeed. Different adaptations for different parts of Skyrim. The spiders in the north have a stronger venom. The spiders in the Rift, and those in Whiterun Hold, tend to have a venom that is more paralytic. They numb their prey, allow them to sit for a few days wrapped in web and then suck them dry. The cold of the north means that their white kin can afford no such luxury."

Sylgja placed a hand over her mouth. "Gods. That means... that means..." She trailed off as she imagined Lan and Berag struggling weakly in the dark, at the total mercy of the spiders.

Filnjar walked forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. "It's okay, Sylgja."

The armor shifted a little. "This is not all of you."

Grogmar nodded. "Two of our friends are still down there. It's been days."

"Then they are dead," the armor said bluntly.

"You shut your damn mouth!" Odfel roared. He stood up and yanked his pickaxe from his belt. His wounded arm trembled slightly. "You don't get to come to our home and talk down to us like this!"

"Put it down," the armored man commanded. His hands clenched into fists as he took a step forward. Odfel's pickaxe dropped to the ground. Sylgja could only watch.

"Please!" Filnjar held up his hands. "We don't want any trouble."

"Save you words," the armored man spat. "I have no quarrel with you. The spiders shall feel any wrath I possess."

Grogmar's eyes went wide. "You're going to kill the spiders?"

"I will remove the infestation."

Filnjar and Grogmar shared a look. "We have nothing to offer you in return," Filnjar told him. "Certainly not the kind of money needed to pay for such a task."

"If you lack gold, I would ask to rest under a roof after my task is complete. The sun is dying and I prefer not to travel at night."

The miners looked at each other. Odfel shook his head. "I don't like it."

"No one said you had to," the armored man replied.

"If you clear them out you can stay with me," Sylgja offered. "I've a spare bed, blankets and some fresh hay." She could feel the strange looks the others were giving her.

The armored man nodded. "I will return shortly. Have the bed ready for me." The miners watched the stranger walk up the hill toward the mine.

"Wait!" Sylgja called out. "Don't you need a weapon?"

The armored man paused at the mine's entrance. The dying sun made him glow with golden brilliance.

"I am a weapon," he replied. Without another word, he descended into the mine.

* * *

"He's been down there for a bit," Sylgja said quietly.

Oldfel snorted. "Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say. I'll not weep while he gets himself killed." The miner finished the last of his soup and stomped toward the residence that he and Grogmar shared.

The orc gave the mine a hard look. "An odd one, no doubt." He gave Sylgja a tired smile. "Thanks for the soup, my dear." He turned and followed Odfel into the house.

Filnjar and Sylgja stood and waited in silence. The sun had fallen beneath the horizon and the only light that remained was the cooking fire before them. Filnjar prodded the burning logs with a branch. The fire spat ash and embers in a light cloud. Renewed, the flames licked the air with greedy tongues.

It was Filnjar who broke the silence. "I'd better get that ore sample he wanted. I hope he kills all those damn things." He gave Sylgja a reassuring smile, but she wasn't looking at him. Her gaze was fixed on the mine. Filnjar sighed and left the fire. Sylgja sat alone and waited.

She didn't wait long. Soon after he had left the armor emerged from the mine, covered in green ichor and sticky webbing. Sylgja stood, in awe, as he made his descent.

He reached the fire and sat down across from her. The log bench shifted under the weight of his armor. His war mask tilted down as he looked into the fire. Sylgja watched in silence.

Eventually, he spoke. "Is the bed ready?" he asked quietly. There was a tiredness to his voice that Sylgja hadn't heard before.

"Oh," she replied, a bit dumbstruck. "I'll get it taken care of." She rose from her seat, not once taking her eyes off of him. "Filnjar went to get your ore sample." The armor said nothing. Sylgja lingered a moment longer before turning to head inside.

"You limp," the man said, stopping her. "Are you injured?" He sounded concerned. He sounded like Filnjar.

She didn't turn to look at him. "I'm fine," she muttered. She opened the door to her home and stepped inside, leaving the man alone by the fire.

Filnjar walked outside, a chunk of glimmering ore in his hands, and saw that the stranger was sitting alone by the cooking fire. The guards were patrolling the roads nearby. He could see the glow of their torches. Slowly but surely, the glow of dozens of torchbugs lit up the night as they began... well, whatever it was that torchbugs did.

He approached the armored man, a little cautious. "Were you successful?"

"Your mine is clean, Nord. Your problem is solved."

The armor's shoulders heaved. Filnjar realized that the man had shrugged. "They died, like anything else. They were large, but your Orc was correct as to their numbers. Four is nothing against me."

Filnjar had no idea what to make of the man. "I'm thankful," he said with certainty. "You've saved us from becoming destitute. Even if the others are a bit gruff, know that we're in your debt."

The armored man waved a hand. "I take no debts, Nord. I work. I kill. I take payment. I do not take words."

Filnjar frowned. "Regardless," he said, trying to remain amicable, "Here's that ore sample you were asking for." He held out the chunk of rock and the armored man took it.

"Could be quicksilver," the armor suggested. He reached down with one hand and pulled a medium-sized pack from behind him. He stuffed the sample inside and stared into the fire.

Filnjar shifted slightly, uncomfortable in the silent dark. "Well, have a good night."

"The woman. Is she always like that?"

Filnjar glanced at the armored man. "Who, Sylgja? No, she's just having a rough time of it. We all are. Not used to seeing strangers in Shor's Stone, for that matter." He looked down into the fire that the stranger was staring so intently into. "She took a bad fall a few weeks back. Hasn't really recovered."

"I see," the man said. He raised a hand to the fire and a tongue of the flame jumped into his palm.

Filnjar's eyes went wide. It wasn't much of a display, but the use of magic put the superstitious nord on edge almost instantly. "You're a mage?" he whispered.

The helmet nodded. "I am. Is that discomforting?"

Filnjar thought he heard a tinge of humor in the voice, but the metal sound almost smothered it entirely. "Well," the nord said nervously, "Just as long as you don't go burning down any buildings." It was supposed to be a joke, but Filnjar's uncertainty kept it from being even a chuckle.

The man said nothing.

Filnjar stood for a moment, as if trying to find something to say. In the end he gave up, shrugged, and walked back inside.

The armored man sat in silence and let the fire grow in his hand. His mask flickered with golden light as the flame burned.

He began to speak. More than that, really. He began to moan, a deep, resonating chant that made the air buzz. The fire danced with his song, growing and ebbing with the sound of his voice.

_"Song cuts iron,_

_Singing blade,_

_Peace is spoken,_

_War is made,_

_Souls gone black,_

_Love is given,_

_Sins of mortals,_

_All forgiven."_

He repeated the song three times, never changing pitch or tone. The words filled the air. When he finished, he extinguished the fire in his hands and the one at his feet before rising. He looked up for a brief moment, staring into the glow of the night sky.

Sylgja, watching through the crack of her door, closed it silently.

* * *

"There, now that's a bed worthy of any inn in Skyrim."

They were indoors now, away from the cold of the night. Sylgja had lit a few candles to give light to her modest dwelling. It wasn't much, but it was hers. That's what made it important.

The armor glanced at the bed and nodded. "You have my thanks. If it is not too much trouble, I wish to eat before I rest for the night."

Sylgja nodded her head at a nearby table. She had a bowl of grilled leeks and a plate of cooked potatoes sitting on a wooden table.

"It's nothing fancy," Sylgja said as he sat down. She took the chair across from him and rested her elbows on the table.

"It is food," the man said, somewhat supportive. "It smells pleasing."

Sylgja found herself blushing. She had no idea why. The stranger was gruff, slightly unapproachable and she hadn't even seen his face. The song had been beautiful and his masterly control of fire was incredible, but he was a stranger. And she was attracted to him?

Nonsense.

He reached up to pull off his helmet and Sylgja realized she was holding her breath. The golden helm came off and she got a first look at her guest.

Her mother had told her stories of great warriors when she was a little girl. They had always been big men with thick necks, long beards and flowing hair. Their features had always been cut from stone and their eyes were said to glow with righteous light.

The little girl in her was disappointed when the man beneath the armor turned out to be the opposite.

He wasn't a Nord, that much was certain. His skin had been pale at some point before the sun had darkened it. His face was rounded and the muscles of his neck were thin and tough. His head was shaved down to the scalp and only the barest shadow of stubble graced his chin. His tired eyes were a gleaming silver, not bright, just shiny. There was an aged look to them, though Sylgja wouldn't have guessed he was any older than his mid-thirties.

The silver-eyed man wore a stern expression that was framed by a pair of black stripes that started around his eyes and ended in points at his throat. The markings were too fine to be war-paint. Tattoos. A scattering of scars dotted the left side of his face, but he was otherwise unmarred.

Aside from the markings and the eyes, there was nothing truly remarkable about him. He wasn't particularly handsome or unattractive. Sylgja let herself breathe. He was just a normal person. Breton or Imperial, she couldn't tell. He could have been either.

He lifted a fork off the table, his hand still encased within his gauntlet, and speared one of the leeks. The motion was quick and precise, almost too quick for Sylgja's eyes to follow. She marveled at how dexterous he was, even wrapped in his armor.

The armored man crunched the leek and chewed in silence, his mouth closed. He did not speak until the food had been chewed thoroughly and swallowed.

"These have been prepared well," he said quietly. "You have my thanks."

"You... you are welcome," she stammered. He was so strange. Her friends and family always ate in raucous groups and talked while chewing. The manners of the armored man were as alien as anything she had ever encountered.

"You find me strange, correct?"

Sylgja sat up straight. It was like he had read her mind. She stared, a fierce blush forming in her face. "A bit," she admitted. "You're not from around here, I know that. I've never entertained a foreigner before."

"You have been most hospitable," the man said. He chewed a mouthful of potato before speaking again. "Many in Skyrim would not let a stranger into their home. Even fewer would do so for a mage."

Sylgja tried her best to look surprised. "You're a mage?" she asked.

"Yes."

"I've... I've nothing against mages," she said. Sylgja cursed herself for sounding so pathetic. She had never met a real mage, at least not one who professed to be a student of magic. She was used to priests and their arts of restoration. It was the only kind of magic most Nords tolerated.

"You are kind," he told her. She looked up and found herself staring into his eyes. She couldn't think of anything to say.

He finished his meal in silence, not once trying to start a new conversation. Sylgja sat and watched him eat, unable to fathom what made her so dumbstruck. There was... there was something about him. It was an aura, a strength. She found it difficult to think about, impossible to express.

The magic. It had to be the magic.

"Well," she said, more to break the silence than anything else. "I suppose you'll want to get some rest."

He nodded and she rose from the table. A spasm of pain overtook her leg and she lost her balance. She shifted forward in an attempt to keep upright, but she found herself falling anyway. She gave a small cry and closed her eyes, waiting for the impact.

The breath left her lungs, but not from hitting the floor. Sylgja opened her eyes and found that the stranger's arm was wrapped tightly around her middle, holding her up. She couldn't believe it, but somehow he had managed to sit up, move around the table and catch her before she hit the floor. Nobody was that fast.

He walked her over to her bed and set her down. She collapsed, groaning, onto the blankets. Her leg continued to shake with the pain and tears pooled under her eyes. She wanted to scream, but her voice failed her.

She dimly registered the sound of his voice. The pain made it seem like he was talking from a great distance.

"You are having a severe muscle spasm," he told her. "You need to relax. Do not fight the pain, it will only make things worse. Embrace it. Join it. Allow it to run its course."

She nodded, tears now flowing freely down her face. Her leg felt like it was on fire. She stopped struggling and the pain ebbed a little. It still throbbed like heated iron, but it was beginning to subside.

After what seemed like an eternity, the pain in her leg finally faded into a dull ache. She buried her face in the blankets and sobbed with relief. It had been the worst pain she had ever experienced.

Pain or not, she still sat up in shock when she felt the silver-eyed man tugging at her pants.

"What are you doing?" she demanded weakly. She slapped at his hands as they undid her belt.

"Helping," he muttered. She struggled in his grip and her leg gave another debilitating spasm.

"Hold still," he ordered. She tried to push him off, but he was too strong. Her trousers were yanked down, exposing the scar, in all its throbbing glory. Sylgja thanked the Eight that her long mining shirt covered her nether regions. Her eyes wide with horror, she pleaded with her attacker.

"Please... please I-"

"This is a horrid wound," the silver-eyed man said. He pressed a hand against the scar and she squealed in pain.

All at once, the pain left her. She looked down, her eyes wide, and watched golden tendrils of restoration magic jump from the man's fingers and into her skin. Sparks of magic buried themselves into the scar tissue and smoothed it out. Others she felt deep inside the muscle, mending the shattered tissue. She could feel the magic restoring her leg as it flowed through her. It was far beyond what the priest had been able to manage.

She stared at the healer. His eyes were closed and his lips moved to a whispered mantra. Power radiated from him. The golden magic pouring from his hand made his armor glow with arcane brilliance.

Sylgja's vision began to dim. His face was the last thing she saw before she faded into unconsciousness.

* * *

Sylgja woke up late the next morning. The sun poked through the thatch of her roof and struck her face with a beam of unwanted light. She groaned, still sleepy, and shifted to block the sun from her face.

Her bad leg did not bind in protest.

She sat up, wide-eyed, and looked at her leg. She was still dressed in her miner's clothes, trousers and all. Sylgja rubbed the spot where she knew her wound should be. When it didn't protest, she stood quickly and stripped her trousers off entirely.

The scar, once a pulsing, knotted thing, was now a sliver of discolored skin that was no bigger than her thumb. She flexed the muscle and waited for a bolt of pain to shoot through the damaged limb. Nothing.

She stared at the scar, unable to find the words to describe her gratitude. A massive smile split her face and tears of joy ran down her cheeks. She was ready to throw her arms around the healer that had saved her from the debilitating pain.

Sylgja looked up and opened her mouth to thank the mage, the man who called himself a weapon, but the words never left her mouth.

The spare bed was empty.

* * *

**LM here,**

**Yeah, we got us some backstory. I liked writing the whole 'what happens in Redbelly mine' bit. Grogmar got to smash some spiders cuz' he's an Orc and I love 'em. Oh, and our armor-clad protagonist heals the heroine. What could be better?**

**Well, that whole implied fear-of-rape thing probably didn't put him in the best light. Ah well. Hope you enjoyed!**

**R&R,**

**Levi Matthews**


	3. Aegis

Aegis

* * *

**Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Skyrim or the Elder Scrolls series. All credit for this story goes to the wonderful minds at Bethesda.**

**Song Credit: The majority of this chapter was written while listening to I Walk by Mister Lies. God Bless Mister Lies.**

* * *

_Journal Entry 111_

_4th Era 178_

_First Seed, 30th Day_

_It has been two years. I am still in Hammerfell._

_I see my hands underneath the skin of my gauntlets. Battered and bloody, worn and covered in callouses. My skin, once pale and with few flaws, has darkened under heat of sun and flame. My mother, may her spirit rest in peace, would not recognize me from all the scarring I've received. The wandering tribesmen of the desert have tattooed my face with the customary war-markings. They say that the spirit of HoonDing flows through my hands to destroy the elven aggressors. I think them fools. HoonDing is the Yokudan spirit of 'perseverance over infidels.' I am as much of an outsider to this place as anyone. _

_Minerva continues to use me to further her ambitions. I do not blame her. I have proven a formidable asset in this war against the Thalmor. She sees me as a much more effective tool than the others, however. Arrows-From-High and Ralyn do not garner nearly as much praise for their actions as I do for mine. She plays favorites. She is ruthless and cunning. She is beauty without peer. I sometimes find that I cannot stand her presence._

_She beckons me to her tent once more, to use me as an outlet for her passions. I go, willingly as always. I provide her release and she provides mine. It is a mutually beneficial arrangement, nothing more. _

_I hope this war may end, so that she no longer needs me. Perhaps fortune will smile on me and she will perish. Then I will be free of her poisonous touch._

_I cam here thinking I would find a purpose. Instead, I only have want for more answers. I care nothing for these people or their cause. _

_Damn the Gods. Damn them all._

* * *

Present Day. 4th Era 200. Loredas the 28th, Evening Star.

Five days before the advent of Morning Star, year 201

* * *

Sylgja, the woman from Shor's stone.

He had recognized her instantly, of course. His memory was strong, and he didn't heal others often. She stood out, for that reason.

She also stood out because she was beautiful.

He didn't like Nord women. They were haughty, prideful things, more prone to spite than affection. The majority of them were also taller than him by half a head. He didn't like that either. When they were beautiful they were beyond looking at.

Sylgja was no different.

Even worse, the Nord woman managed to remind him of _her. _That was enough to set him on edge. Even in her armor she maintained a desirable shape. Her appealing figure was only enhanced by the beauty of her face. She was pale-skinned, full-lipped. The brown of both her hair and eyes shimmered in the mid-day sun. He was painfully reminded of how long it had been since...

Beauty or not, he kept silent as he walked past her, thankful that she couldn't see his face. She had no way of recognizing him. It would be better if he moved on, without interaction. Life was easier with less strings attached.

He descended the stairs in silence and moved past the gaggle of people clustered around the market stalls. A clamor suddenly rose up behind him. He turned to find the source.

She was falling. Cased in steel, she was falling down the stairs.

There was no way he could reach her in time. That was certain. It wasn't any of his business. Also a certainty. Still, and without hesitation, he started to run.

_Why? _he asked himself as he moved. _She is nothing to you._

Even as his feet carried him toward her, he couldn't think of an answer.

* * *

As it turned out, running down stairs in full steel armor wasn't a good idea.

Sylgja's first two steps were steady and sure, but on the third her armored boot slid across the stone and threw her off balance. She tumbled forward, her eyes wide with surprise. For a brief moment, she was able to see just how long of a fall she was about to endure. The stairs yawned before her as she began to cry out.

She spun in mid-air, trying to roll with the fall like her mother had taught her. In light armor the technique would have worked, but she was wearing heavy steel. She hit the stone stairs hard. She felt the bones in her right shoulder break.

That wasn't the worst of it. She continued to fall the remainder of the way. Though the heavy armor protected her torso, arms and legs from the worst of the impacts, she still suffered grievous injury. Her collarbone snapped. Two fingers were bent at unnatural angles as she attempted to brace herself and failed. The last impact before she came to a stop at the base of the stairs shattered the base of her spine.

She laid there, moaning in pain and unable to move. She could hear the crowd through the fog of pain, shouting and causing a commotion.

She dimly registered Derkeethus' presence at her side. "Damn everything," the Argonian was saying "Stay with me, Syl." She could see the worry in the black orbs of his eyes. Her vision was darkening. "Somebody get a _kkekk'n_ healer!"

"Move!" a voice thundered over the rabble of the crowd. Sylgja couldn't turn her head to see, but it sounded like the armored warrior. Maybe. Maybe.

He knelt down next to her and held out his hands as if he was cupping water. A ball of golden magic, impossibly bright, appeared above his open palms.

"This will hurt," he said through his metal mask. "You will scream. Blink twice if you understand."

Sylgja blinked twice.

The armor pressed the ball against her forehead. The magic shot directly into her system, repairing bone and mending the affected tissue.

To her credit, Sylgja managed to keep from screaming for a good while. But when her spine began to knit itself together, she thrashed and shrieked aloud for all the Gods to hear.

* * *

"She will be sore, especially around her neck and lower back, but I expended most of my magics to tend to her wounds. She will be fine."

Derkeethus looked down at Sylgja's sleeping form. He had used some of his winnings to rent a bed at the Bannered Mare, the finest the innkeep had to offer. Sylgja's armor and weapon rested on a table nearby. Derkeethus had dressed her in a simple blue tunic and loose white trousers that the innkeeper had provided.

She was lying on a mattress stuffed with fresh hay and there were down pillows under her head. The armored man had cautioned against a surface too soft, so Derkeethus had placed her atop the heavy blankets. She slept soundly, a soft snore escaping with every other breath.

The summoner pulled up a nearby chair and sat in it. The chair should have groaned under the weight of his armor, but did not.

"Twice I have healed this woman," he said with gravelly tone. "Twice the cause of the damage was self injury. Has your... friend always been this clumsy?"

Derkeethus shrugged. "Syl tends to... overexert herself when she's after something. She's usually not that clumsy."

"So I see."

Derkeethus rounded on the summoner, the black orbs of his eyes narrowed with anger. "Don't you take that tone of voice, you condescending bastard. So help me, I'll-"

"Enough, Derk."

The men turned and saw Sylgja struggling to sit up in the bed. She winced slightly as she moved. There was still pain in her neck and back.

"It seems I am no longer required here," the summoner said quietly. He turned to leave.

"Would you stay for just a moment?" Sylgja asked weakly. "I'd like to speak with you. Without injuring myself again, if that's all right." A smile tugged the corners of her mouth.

The summoner glanced over his shoulder at the injured woman. "You do not owe me anything, Nord. You are lucky your injuries were not worse. My skill with healing magic only goes so far."

"And you have my thanks. Two-fold, by any account."

"Then our business is complete. Good day."

"Wait!" Sylgja shouted. She rose from her bed, wincing at the tightness in her muscles and the soreness in her bones. "Just stay for a moment, okay?"

"I'll just wait down by the hearth," Derkeethus said quietly. He slid past the armored man and closed the door behind him.

"You have no business with me," the armored man told Sylgja, clearly annoyed. "Nor do I have want for any business with you."

"Do you remember me?" she blurted.

The armor turned to face her and stood with his arms crossed. "Sylgja the Hammer," he said quietly. "What do you want?"

Sylgja's eyes were wide. "You know that name?"

The armor approached slowly, his eyeless gaze fixed on her. "Indeed. You and your Argonian companion have been causing a stir within the Eastern Holds. The Rift and Eastmarch are rife with gossip about you two. Bandit killers and troll slayers indeed."

She cringed. The way he said 'bandit killers and troll slayers' came across as insulting. Everything that made Sylgja a Nord threatened to boil over in anger, but she kept herself composed.

"I've been looking for you," she said evenly.

"Indeed?" He took a seat in a nearby chair and kept his gaze rooted on her. "I have no idea as to why. If you wanted to express thanks, a note by courier would have sufficed. It would have reached me eventually, Skyrim's runners seem a persistent bunch."

Sylgja's eyes were suddenly elsewhere. Gratitude was _exactly_ why she had left home to become an adventurer. Gratitude was why she had spent the last four months of her life travelling across eastern Skyrim, searching for the man who had saved her from a life of pain and stagnation. Her gratitude was enough that she was willing to pledge herself to his service, to fight his enemies with all the strength she could muster. It was the Nord way, the honorable thing to do.

Gratitude that, by the stranger's tone, was unwanted.

The words were out of Sylgja's mouth before she could stop them. "I want you to train me," she blurted. It sounded stupid, even to her. She had never cast even the slightest whisper of a spell before.

The man under the armor crossed his arms. "Training? Do not lie to me, Nord. You are no mage. I have nothing to offer you."

"I can learn," Sylgja protested.

"You cannot. Those who have the inborn gift have a certain... radiance. An aura. You lack this aura." His arms dropped to his lap. "Even if it were possible, I would not."

Sylgja's heart sank, but fire reached her words. "Why not?" she demanded.

His tone was as sharp as a sword's edge. "Because I do not train. If you want training, go speak to the Companions. I'm sure they would be more than happy to take your gold."

Sylgja was fed up. "Fine, I'll be honest. I've been looking for you for the last four months to repay a debt. You've given me my life back twice now, saved me from a fate worse than death. The first time you healed me I promised myself that I would stand with you, against whatever enemies you have. I'm strong. I'm tough. I'm a warrior, and I will do what is honorable."

Her muscles binding in protest, Sylgja knelt before the armored man and bowed her head. "I pledge myself to you, sorcerer. Your enemies are my enemies. Your glory is my glory. I will follow you to the depths of Oblivion itself, if need be."

She kept her eyes shut as silence followed her statement. She was nervous. Beyond nervous, really.

"You are a fool," the man snapped. Sylgja opened her eyes and looked up at the man. He was still sitting. "Keep your oaths to yourself, for I have no use for them."

Sylgja was stunned. "You... you don't accept my oath?"

"I discard words without meaning," he replied, as cold as ever. "Think before you speak. I have healed you, yes. Does that alone make me worth pledging your life to? There are many healers in the temples of Skyrim. Many could have done what I did. If it had been a temple healer that saved you, would you pledge your life to their temple? Their god? The oaths of the young are the oaths of the rash, when made without forsight."

Sylgja couldn't think of anything to say. Honor aside, the man's words made sense. She certainly hadn't pledged herself to the priest of Mara, the man who had initially healed her wound.

"I am no-one's master," he told her. "I have no interest in oaths and promises. They are fragile things, easily broken by death or changes of the heart. I do not know you, but I have seen you act on impulse, without regard to consequence."

"I-"

"Consider this. What do you know of me? I am a mage, yes? A summoner, a healer, a destroyer. Had I accepted your oath, what kind of master would you have found yourself sworn to?"

The question hung in the air like a foul stench. Sylgja found herself nervous very suddenly.

"Did you think that I was a benevolent soul? That I was one who existed to help others? Did you think me kind, when I forced my healing magic upon you? I could be anyone, anything."

Sylgja found herself looking away, the severity in his voice was that intimidating. "But you're not-"

"You do not know me," he said angrily. "So do not kneel before me and pledge yourself to a person you know nothing about." The room went silent.

Sylgja looked back up into the man's eye slits. "I don't care what you are. You helped me. By all that makes me a Nord, I'm not leaving this debt unpaid."

He was silent for a moment. "Headstrong. A trait you Nords seem to have in abundance."

He walked over to where Sylgja's armor and weapon sat. "Adrianne does good work. She will be a great smith one day." He reached down and hefted Shieldbane in his hands. "This is a fine hammer."

Without any warning, he turned and tossed the weapon to Sylgja. Instinct forced her to catch the weapon, though the soreness in her limbs gave her no small amount of grief. She didn't allow the pain to show on her face. Instead, she gave the hammer a few short swings before letting it rest across her shoulders.

The armored man spoke, and Sylgja fancied she could hear a smile in his voice. "You'll do," he said softly. He reached up and removed his helmet, confirming for Sylgja that he was indeed the same man. The silver in his eyes gleamed in the low candlelight. Still hairless save for the barest hint of stubble on his head and face, still wearing black war tattoos like a bandit chief. Sylgja realized how relieved she was to recognize her mystery mage.

"Put on your armor, Sylgja of Shor's Stone. I may have a use for you."

"What... what do you mean?" Sylgja asked. She had no idea where the conversation was going.

"I've no need of a follower, but I do have a job that requires more than just my personage. If you desire it, I would not protest you joining me."

Sylgja stared, unbelieving. "Wait, didn't you just say you weren't interested in-"

"I have no interest in debts, woman, and I will not offer training." He stopped for a moment and slipped his helmet over his head. "I can, however, offer experience. You are looking for instruction in the art of battle, and I happen to have need of capable fighters. Join me for a job and I promise that you will learn much from it." Sylgja heard a smile in the man's voice. "At the very least, your purse will be bulging with gold. And your foolish sense of debt will be satisfied."

She didn't answer immediately. The man had warned her about rash decisions, making choices without knowledge beforehand. Derkeethus would have protested, of course, but he wasn't around to voice his concerns.

"It is my only offer," the man said. "I will find others, if you are unwilling."

"We'll do it," Sylgja said quickly. "We'll take the job."

The armored man nodded an left the room, closing the door behind him. Doing her best not to overexert herself, Sylgja scrabbled to put on her armor.

* * *

"I don't like this, Syl."

Sylgja nudged her Argonian friend with her elbow. The pair were seated at a small table in the Bannered Mare, Whiterun's largest inn. The building was quiet, as most of the inn's traffic wouldn't arrive until after the sun had begun to set. The bard, a scrawny man with shaggy blonde hair, was quietly tuning his lute. Sitting nearby was a hard-faced woman armored in plate, a large steel greatsword strapped across her back. She stared into her drink, as if trying to find consolation within.

A redguard woman swept the floors, keeping her gaze rooted to the ground. Her dark hair hung low in front of her face, obscuring it from view. Sylgja didn't blame the woman. Life as a tavern wench sounded about as appealing as getting disemboweled by a troll.

Nearby, the innkeep and the armored man were discussing the price of food and drink. He set some coins on the table and she produced a pair of bottled meads and a mug of some steaming liquid. The armor plucked the bottles off the counter with one hand and took the mug with the other. He turned and approached Sylgja and Derkeethus' table, stepping lightly around the redguard woman. He took a seat across from them and pushed the mead toward them. Sylgja took hers in hand, but Derkeethus left his bottle untouched.

"Black-Briar mead," the armor said as he settled into his seat. "An... acquaintance of mine swears by the stuff. I have never tried it."

Sylgja uncorked her mead and took a cautious sip. It tasted of dark berries, honey, and master-brewed ale. "It's wonderful," she said. She drank a bit more from the bottle, enjoying how the mead warmed her belly.

"What's that you're drinking?" Derkeethus asked, pointing at the mug sitting in front of the armored man.

"Tea. Spiced mint from Hammerfell. It is rare to find it this far east, but sometimes fortune smiles." The armor reached up and pulled off his helmet. Derkeethus' eyes widened. Sylgja reminded herself that this was the first time the Argonian had looked upon the object of her search. Sylgja considered herself fortunate to have found him at all.

The armored man set his helmet on the table in front of him and lifted hist steaming mug in both hands. He took a long, appreciative sip and relaxed into his seat. "Now that... that is most agreeable." He closed his eyes and let the smell of the tea wash over him.

Derkeethus and Sylgja sat in silence for a few moments. Derkeethus, as expected, was the one who broke the strange silence. "What's this job you're offering?" he said, a bit too loudly for the inn's atmosphere.

The man opened his eyes and offered a light smile. Sylgja was taken aback at how quickly he had gone from war-torn to handsome. It was the smile, she decided.

"The individual who contacted me will be able to provide more detail on the job itself." His smile turned into a grin. "If it goes as planned, you will find riches far beyond what you could ever hope to find in the hands of bandits and beasts."

Sylgja frowned. "You say that like we can't handle ourselves."

He shrugged and took another sip from his tea. "Far from it. But there is skill and there is experience. The two of you are skilled adventurers, and can claim survival of months." His eyes fixed on Sylgja's and his grin faded. "But tell me this, have you ever fought Daedra? Vampires? Dwemer Animunculi?"

Sylgja shifted in her seat, suddenly uncomfortable. "No. Nothing like that." She glanced at Derkeethus. "We've taken down bandit camps, frost trolls, bears, wolf packs, the occasional necromancer."

"There was that Spriggan too," Derkeethus volunteered. "Oh, and that cave of Falmer."

The armored man raised an eyebrow. "A cave of Falmer? The both of you?"

"Something like that," Sylgja said with a grin.

Derkeethus shared her pride. "Not a bad list of deeds, if I say so myself."

The man nodded and set his tea on the table. "I agree. Do not mistake my attitude toward your accomplishments as disdain. Rather, I want to express just what kind of foes we are going to be facing."

He leaned back in his chair and his expression grew stony. "Our target is a Dwemer ruin. We are sure to encounter many Animunculi within. They are unlike any foe you have ever faced. They do not tire. They do not feel fear. They do not bleed and they have no flesh to bite into. They will kill you without emotion if you show the slightest hesitation, for they have none. They are soulless things."

Sylgja suppressed a shudder. "You certainly know how to get a girl's confidence up."

The man shrugged. "I will not lighten the situation. I will provide you with the information needed to keep you alive. Confidence comes from knowing your enemy and its strengths. Weakness comes from charging in without foresight."

"Good to know," Sylgja said dryly. The man seemed to be a mine's worth of platitudes. "You have a lot of experience with that sort of thing?"

"With those words as a mantra, I have killed hundreds."

Derkeethus and Sylgja just stared. The Argonian's mouth hung open slightly.

"Hundreds?" Sylgja whispered.

"Perhaps thousands," the man answered. He kept his voice low, so others wouldn't be able to overhear. "It matters little. I will not lie. I am a killer. A murderer. A thief. A blasphemer. I have committed war crimes and slain innocents. I have burned down chapels and desecrated bodies. I regret nothing, and I will never apologize for the things I have done."

A heavy silence settled over the group. Derkeethus reached out and took his mead from the table. "At least he's honest."

The armored man looked Sylgja in the eyes and held her gaze. "Do you understand what I am? I am not a savior clad in gold, Sylgja of Shor's Stone. I am a mercenary. I do what I will simply because I wish it, not for any sense of morals or the blessings of the gods." His eyes never leaving hers, the armored man took another sip of his tea. "I hope this is clear to you."

Sylgja nodded, still perturbed. "I understand what you're telling us. I don't like it, but it's like you said. I don't know you."

A smile curled the corners of his mouth. "Then you have learned. Perhaps my previous assumptions about you were misled."

Derkeethus burped mead and rested his elbows on the table. "While this prattling is absolutely fascinating, I'd rather hear more details about this job. Where is this ruin? How long of a trip is this going to be?"

The armored man set his tea on the table and laced his fingers together. "The trip will take no more than half a day by carriage, provided the journey is uneventful. My contact is waiting for us in Ivarstead."

Derkeethus perked up, suddenly more interested. "Ivarstead? We're going to Ivarstead?"

Sylgja elbowed him again. "Quiet. You're the one who asked, so let him finish."

A smile touched upon the edges of the man's lips. "The ruin itself is to the southeast of Ivarstead, on the border of the Jerall mountains. My contact will provide the finer details once we meet him."

"Ivarstead," Derkeethus muttered. A reptillian smile split his face as he took a drink from his mead. "This is looking better already."

Sylgja groaned aloud and the armored man raised a perplexed eyebrow in her direction. "Something I should know?"

She shook her head. "Derkeethus here is sweet on girl down in Ivarstead. She's a bard, plays at the inn."

"She's a goddess," Derkeethus snapped. His eyes took on a dreamy sheen. "Lynly Star-Sung. Such talented hands. Such beauty."

The armored man cracked a smile. "A man in love if I have ever seen one. Fear not, after this is over you'll be able to return to her with the riches of the Dwemer empire. No woman could resist that."

Sylgja didn't know if Argonians could blush, the scales made it hard to see their skin, but she would have put money on Derkeethus doing so.

A light smile on her face, Sylgja looked at the armored man once more. "So that's it then? A jaunt to Ivarstead and then we all get rich? Sounds too easy."

A stern look appeared in his silver eyes, but the smile never left his face. "I would not bother you with this task if it was easy, Sylgja of Shor's Stone."

"Fair enough," Sylgja said.

"Hang on," Derkeethus said, holding up a claw. "I haven't agreed to anything yet."

The armored man nodded. "I understand your trepidation. Caution will serve you well and keep you alive." He leaned forward and caught the argonian's gaze with his own. "But as the saying goes, no rewards come without risk."

"Being dead seems like a big risk," Derkeethus answered flatly.

"And has that stopped you and your friend from becoming a pair of the most prolific adventurers eastern Skyrim has seen in years? Judging from your reputation, I'd say that is not the case."

Derkeethus huffed and took another sip of his drink. "Yeah, but it's my hide on the line. I'll decide what dangerous adventures I go on, thank you very much."

"Oh knock it off," Sylgja said with a pout. She turned to the armored man, ignoring the glare Derkeethus was shooting at her. "We're with you, though I find I'm at a disadvantage. You know our names, but we don't know yours." Inside, she grinned. She had him.

The armored man leaned back in his seat, a bemused look on his face. "You speak true. Trust cannot be established on anonymity." He reached out and took his tea from the table. "But I do not offer trust. You may call me Aegis, if you wish. That moniker will suffice."

Sylgja nodded, though she was disappointed. At least she had a name to go by, if she needed to track him down again.

Aegis took another sip from his tea and looked at his recruits. "Now then. The day still carries light, perhaps the two of you would join me in a sojourn?"

Sylgja finished her mead with an impressive gulp. "Sounds good to me, I get tense just sitting around. What did you have in mind?"

Aegis cracked his knuckles together loudly. "There's an old fort to the west of here. Fort Greymoor. Used to be an Imperial garrison, but long since abandoned to bandits. It is infested with them."

Derkeethus' reptilian lips curved into a slight frown. "I thought you said killing bandits was easy work."

"It is," Aegis asserted. He cupped his tea in both hands and took a long, satisfying drink.

"I simply wish to test your ablities."

* * *

**LM here,**

**So yeah, still kinda vague as to what exactly is going on, but that journal entry was fun, wasn't it? And Sylgja finally got to meet her mystery man. Surprise, surprise, he's a bit of a jerk. And a killer. And a sacrilegious, remorseless mage. Why can't women go after the nice guys for a change. Sigh.**

**Levi Matthews**


	4. Ignis

Ignis

* * *

**Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Skyrim or the Elder Scrolls series. All credit for this story goes to the wonderful minds at Bethesda.**

**Song Credit: The majority of this chapter was written while listening to Lucid Truth by Blackmill. God Bless Blackmill.**

* * *

The following is an excerpt from 'Burning Desert', a first-person historical account of the war between a newly independent Hammerfell and the Aldmeri Dominion. Written by the Imperial scholar Quentin Alderis, this passage recounts his experience during and following the siege of Taneth, 4th Era 178.

* * *

_I consider myself lucky to have survived._

_At the time, I was an attending scholar for Taneth's School of Julianos. My colleagues had either fled to High Rock or had gone to war and died. I, along with a stalwart Knight Mentor by the name of Abastus Craid, remained. He and I had shared a friendship since my arrival in Taneth, and he had remained to act as my safeguard._

_I had opted to stay in order to catalog the various tomes and magical artifacts that remained on the premesis. I was using the last of my gold to have them shipped to the school Daggerfall, whom I had already written explaining the situation. All of it shipped and accounted for, Abastus and I made ready to leave the city ourselves._

_The Thalmor laid siege to the city two days before Abastus and I were scheduled to depart by boat. It took them another four to breach the city proper. Abastus and I barricaded ourselves inside the school and prayed to the Divines for deliverance. I watched from a window and was able to see the scope of the battle, as the school was perched on a high hill that overlooked most of the city._

_It was hard to tell what was happening during the battle. Mass confusion reigned as people ran for their lives or died. Some died regardless if they tried to make good on their escape. The Thalmor were as ruthless as they were effective. Hundreds died as they poured into the city, overwhelming the surprised defenders with magical brutality. I saw men and women exploded with magical fire and lightning. I saw bodies littered across streets, cobblestones red with flowing blood. I saw smoke rising like a Daedric Prince over the carnage to block out the sun itself._

_Hours upon hours passed before the sounds of battle died down. The regular army was routed and pushed from the city. The Thalmor did not give chase._

_To their credit, the Alik'r stationed in the city stayed behind and fought to the last man. The casualties they inflicted on the Thalmor were horrendous. The famous Argonian bowman and mercenary, Arrows-From-High, was reported to have killed dozens of Justiciars before being slain. I am told that the armies of Hammerfell were silent for an entire day when they learned of his death. _

_In the end, the battle did not reach our humble building. High Lord Sondil, the Thalmor general leading the Hammerfell campaign, rode into the city to bolster the presence the Elves had made. I am told he wore a smirk as he surveyed the carnage. When I first laid eyes on the High Lord, days later, I saw no smirk._

_Securely under Thalmor control, Taneth was placed under a strict quarantine. The port was closed for any ships that were not part of the Thalmor fleet. Many were accused of Talos worship or aiding the enemy. Those who resisted were killed. They took the surrendering prisoners from the city, never to be seen again. Abastus and I were fortunate enough to escape the eye of scrutiny, as we were both members of a prestigious institution that was otherwise removed from the affairs of the state. Regardless, Abastus kept watch during day and night hours, dressed in his battlemage steel. His mace was never far from his side. __We did not venture into the city unless we had to. The forces of the Dominion were everywhere._

_It was four days before we were able to leave the city, though all business involved with closing the school was said and done. I had scheduled a carriage to meet us outside the city walls and take us with all speed to Gilane. From there we would take a ship to Daggerfall, and finally be free of the accursed war._

_The day of our departure, Abastus and I left at first light. We descended the slope and into the city proper, Abastus pulling a cart with our belongings behind him. As we made for the streets to pass into the main plaza, we were delayed by Thalmor Justiciars in full elven armor. Several of their black-cloaked mages were also in attendance, though they were not concerned with our leaving._

_If you've never been to Taneth's central plaza, allow me to give you an image of the place. When I knew it, the the plaza was a grand thing, simple yet majestic. The space was large enough to accommodate a legion of troops. The flagstones were etched with swirling symbols of painted blues and reds. All entrances to the square were festooned by arches supported by spiraling columns of gold. In the center of the plaza sat the Wall of the Masters. A block of ebony two men tall and two-dozen paces across, the Wall of the Masters held the names of the Yokudan sword-singers that discovered and founded the state Hammerfell. It was a monument to those who came before. During the day, the sunlight hit the Wall and illuminated the names in glowing white. It was as sacred to Redguard culture as anything could be._

_That day, it was home to one of the most horrid sights I have ever seen._

_Though I did not know him from looking, the muffled words of the Justiciars confirmed that he was High Lord Sondil. The great Altmer general was hanging from the top of the Wall, pinned to it by his own sword. The elven blade had pierced flat through the Elf's ribs so as to hold the High Lord up, a grim war-trophy for all to see. His neck lolled at an unnatural angle and his face was a mask of blood. I would later discover that his attackers had seen fit to remove the High Lord's eyes._

_That was not the worst of it. Sondil was bare of clothing. His stomach and nether regions were a mess of gore and intestinal tract. His hands and feet had been cut off. The stumps still dripped blood. The rest of the High Lord's body was covered in ragged tears and severe burns._

_Beneath his ruined corpse, written in blood on the sacred stone of the Wall of the Masters, was a message. A threat._

_YOU SHALL BURN_

_Abastus and I departed shortly afterward. The Thalmor did not impede our progress. The whispers of the city folk confirmed our suspicions. The Aegis and the Shade, infamous mercenaries employed by the Lion, had tortured and slain the High Lord before festooning him across the Wall, possibly to avenge their fallen comrade, Arrows-From-High. _

_They had slipped into the city unnoticed. They had infiltrated the Thalmor bastion without alerting any troops to their presence. Even the High Lord's personal bodyguard were unaware that he had been missing. It should have been an impossible task, accosting the High Lord without being discovered. It had been done, and justice had been merciless._

_Years have passed since that day. The image, the High Lord strung up like a piece of meat and the blood-threat beneath him, remains burned into my brain. I will likely never forget it, though I sometimes wish I could. I have never seen a horror its equal._

_I sometimes wonder what kind of hate drives men to commit such brutal actions. As I wonder, goose-flesh breaks out over my arms and the back of my neck._

_I have decided that such questions are best left unanswered._

* * *

Present Day. 4th Era 200. Loredas the 28th, Evening Star.

Five days before the advent of Morning Star, year 201.

* * *

They set a slow pace as they followed Aegis out of Whiterun. The sun was shining bright overhead and a cool tundra breeze cradled the trio as they walked, Aegis and Derkeethus in the lead. There was a large bag tied to the man's belt. "For the spoils of war," he had told Sylgja. It fluttered behind him as he moved.

Sylgja, her warhammer resting across her back, marveled at how fortune had smiled on her. She had found him, at long last, even if she had endured much along the way. A light spring in her step, Sylgja listened while Derkeethus and Aegis spoke about the finer points of archery.

"How exactly do you draw so fast?" the Argonian asked. His bow was in his hand and he idly plucked at its string like a lute player.

"Your bow is made up of corporeal things," Aegis explained. "Wood, metal. It is a fine weapon, as most all Imperial weapons are, but all weapons of craft have weight. My bow is a phantom thing, created by my will. It weighs nothing. As such, I will always draw faster and shoot faster than the man next to me."

Derkeethus' eyes went wide. "That's not possible."

"You practice alteration magics, do you not?"

Derkeethus nearly stopped dead in surprise. "How did you know?"

"I smelled it on you," Aegis replied. "Your kind seem to excel at the school. I profess, I have no interest in it." He waved a hand in dismissal. "Regardless, any disciplined user of magics knows that the impossible is merely a level of skill that hasn't been reached yet."

"There are some things that cannot be done," Derkeethus said meekly.

"Is that so? You will see first hand when we arrive at the fort."

"I look forward to it," Derkeethus said, rising to the challenge. He inclined his head and looked back at Sylgja. "You're awfully quiet back there, Syl."

The Nord woman shrugged. "It's a nice day. I'm just enjoying the calm before the storm."

"They will fight," Aegis agreed. "It is a good day to make war."

"You enjoy a good battle?" Sylgja asked. She still had no idea what to make of the mage.

He flexed his armored fingers. "Battle defines me."

"Is it all that defines you?"

"It is all that needs to." His pace increased and Derkeethus and Sylgja found themselves speeding their walk in order to keep up with him. The flagstones on the road beneath them had been long since smoothed by carriage and traveler and gave the warrior and archer little trouble as they moved.

"I think you made him mad," Derkeethus whispered.

"I think you should soak your head," she shot back. Sylgja was getting irritated. The stiffness in her muscles and the light pain in her back only added to the feeling.

Derkeethus glared at her. "You had to open your mouth, didn't you? The man is insane. Probably going to lead us into the woods and murder us, or something."

"Shut up," Sylgja whispered. "This is our chance!"

"It's _your_ chance," Derkeethus retorted. "You're the one who said this guy was a gift from the Divines." He snorted. "Didn't know the Gods were recruiting madmen."

"He's odd," Sylgja said with a pout, "Not crazy."

He huffed and strapped his bow across his back. "I don't like it. You don't even know his real name, and now we're tagging along with him to raid a bandit fort. This whole thing stinks of bad fish. I don't care _how_ many times he heals you. I don't care how good of a shot he is either. An Argonian knows trouble when he sees one."

"Seems like Argonians see trouble everywhere then," she retorted, "Or is that just you?"

"Don't be like that," Derkeethus shot back. "Besides, you heard what he said back in the tavern. Murderer, blasphemer, all that fun stuff. Does that strike you as the kind of person we should be tagging along with?"

Sylgja gave her friend a playful nudge with her elbow. "Oh stop it. If it wasn't for his help I wouldn't be where I am today. And then you'd be dead in that cave. If you want to run off and adventure by yourself you go ahead, but I'm going with him. I don't think he's a bad person." She gave him a knowing look. "Besides, you were the one who said that he was honest."

Derkeethus sighed and readjusted the pack on his shoulder. "Fine. But the minute he decides to sacrifice us to Molag Bal, I'm out. I don't _do_ Daedra."

Sylgja rolled her eyes. "Please, you know I'd never ask you to do anything crazy."

"And yet here I am."

They passed Whiterun's western watchtower. Even in her armor, Sylgja's toned shape and ample bust drew a cluster of catcalls from the guards stationed on the ramparts. She ignored them as best she could, but the whisper of a blush still managed to redden her cheeks.

"Eyes elsewhere, humans!" Derkeethus shouted. He waved his bow for them to see. "Helmets or no, I'll take your eyes!"

The guards booed and hissed, yelling out racial slurs and empty threats. Derkeethus ignored them and shook his head, continuing on. "Hate this province sometimes," Sylgja heard him mutter. "Bunch of lousy _kkekks_." He strapped his bow to his back once more.

Sylgja gave her friend a comforting pat on his shoulder. "That was nice of you, Derk. Thanks."

A smile formed at the edges of the Argonian's mouth, but he waved the comment off. "Anytime."

Seeing that they were trailing behind Aegis, Derkeethus and Sylgja broke into a jog in order to catch up. They were still jogging when the mage stopped abruptly at a bend in the road, near a large pile of shattered masonry.

He was standing at the mouth of the path leading up at the fort. Where Fort Greymoor had once been an impressive display of the Empire's military presence, the crumbling walls that remained were as unimpressive as anything Sylgja had ever seen. She could see several dozen hazy figures standing on the battlements. Their impending task seemed that much more dangerous now.

Aegis gestured up at the fort. "Three on the battlements. Archers, all of them."

Sylgja put cupped a hand over her eyes to block out the sun. "Three? There's at least a half-dozen on that rampart alone."

"Old practice dummies," the mage asserted. "Look closely. They do not move, even though the true bandits mill about like bored flies. A sentry without discipline is no sentry at all."

"He's right," Derkeethus confirmed. Always the marksman, the Argonian had already drawn his bow. "It's like what the bandits had going over at Treva's Watch."

Sylgja nodded. Even with the deceptions of the dummies, that bandit fort had been a hell of a fight. The other three mercenaries with them had been killed outright. Sylgja and Derkeethus left with a sizable haul that had gotten them a first-class carriage ride to Whiterun, supplies and potions, and a gear refit for both the Nord woman and her Argonian companion.

Syglja was brought out of her thoughts when Aegis' right hand was engulfed in glowing purple magic. A quick gesture and Aegis pulled a glowing blue bow from the air. "Do you think you can hit those archers from here, Argonian?"

Derkeethus huffed and pulled an arrow from his quiver. "Watch me."

He stood, made a target, nocked an arrow. The glare of the sun did nothing to deter his aim. His arrow flew true and a man cried out. A bandit tumbled from the battlements, clutching his chest.

Aegis acknowledged the skilled shot with a nod. He stood, nocked an arrow so quickly that Sylgja could hardly see the action, and made his own shot.

A bandit archer, her bow drawn in response to the death of her comrade, didn't even see the shot that ended her life. The redguard's head snapped back as the arrow punched through her left eye and killed her instantly. The body crumpled moments later, leaving only one bewildered Imperial on the ramparts. A second shot from the phantom bow took the final bandit in the throat and removed the threat from the walls.

"We get it," Derkeethus hissed. "You're good." To his chagrin, Aegis remained silent.

Alerted to the threat, a cluster of bandits charged through the fortress gate and into the open. Sylgja counted six jittery melee fighters, with a pair of archers clustered toward the back. They stood in a loose formation, searching for attackers they couldn't see.

Aegis extinguished his bow and focused his eyeless gaze on Sylgja. "You and I will charge the gate. Move quickly and show no mercy." He turned and clasped Derkeethus on the shoulder. "Fire into the fray as you can, but feel free to close in if it seems appropriate." He pointed at the steel sword at the Argonian's hip. "I hope that is not for show."

"I'll give you a show," the Derkeethus hissed. He made a gesture with his free hand and was enveloped in the green glow of mageflesh.

Sylgja shot Derkeethus a glare. "Play nice, damn you." She nodded at Aegis and pulled her warhammer from her back. "I'm ready when you are."

Aegis rose from his crouch and charged, racing toward his targets with powerful footfalls that punished the ground. Sylgja followed behind, bellowing a war-cry. Derkeethus fired a shot that whisked past the two armored warriors and struck a mace wielding bandit in the forehead and put him down.

The bandits charged in response.

Aegis was among them first, not that Sylgja was surprised. His hands were blazing with orange fire. A redguard woman armed with a rusted iron sword made to swipe at him, but the mage was faster. He sidestepped the blade and brought two fistfuls of fire up to the bandit's face before unleashing it in an intense gout. The woman didn't even have time to scream as her head was immolated. She dropped to the ground a moment later. The horrified curses of her fellows filled the air.

Distracted by Aegis' kill, Sylgja almost didn't see the bandit charging her until it was too late. She brought up her hammer in a block that barely managed to keep a greatsword from biting into her face. She yanked her opponent's weapon around and the bandit stumbled in the dirt. The man died when Shieldbane's point crushed his head with a wet crunch and pinned him to the ground.

Another arrow whizzed by and buried itself in a bandit's unarmored stomach. Without hesitation, Sylgja lifted her hammer and swung it in a low arc that caught the brigand in the ribs, crushing the bones and sending a spray of blood onto the ground. She let the man fall. If he wasn't dead, he would be shortly.

She moved to engage another bandit when an arrow bit into her shoulder. She gasped, faltered and barely managed to sidestep the next shot that sought her flesh. A pair of bandits saw the wounded warrior and raced toward her. She steeled herself and raised Shieldbane in a defensive posture.

_Ah shit..._

* * *

He was a blur.

The enemy was a weak, disorganized mess. The kind of opponent that took no skill. It was a refreshing change of pace, not having to try. His superiority was obvious to all, even to the woman and the Argonian. His power was beyond all of them.

He summoned a sword into his right hand and sliced an Imperial's arm off at the shoulder. Both the arm and the mace in its hand dropped to the ground and the bandit reeled back in shock. Aegis' hand reached out to the pained man's face and his fingers dug into the cheek flesh. His hand closed. Bone crunched. Painful death followed. He let the corpse drop.

Aegis turned, searching for new targets. The woman had taken an arrow. The injury made her a bigger target.

He charged, his sword in his right hand hand and a ball of fire in his left. The bandit nearest the woman, a dirt-faced nord brute with an iron sword, crumpled under the weight of Aegis' armor and dropped to the ground. The second man lost his head to the shimmering blue blade. Aegis aimed his left hand, palm flat, at the first bandit. A gout of flame immolated the downed man almost instantly.

The archers, almost stunned into inaction by the brutal deaths of their comrades, fired hasty shots that simply bounced off of his chestplate. The iron arrowheads didn't do more than scratch the master-crafted metal.

Stupid of them. Very stupid.

A quick gesture and the sword was gone, replaced with more fire. Aegis brought his hands together and unleashed a massive fireball. It struck one of the bandits head on and the woman exploded. Burning meat splattered the ground and the stench of it filled the air. The other bandit was engulfed in flame and screamed as he was set alight. He died, but not until his eyes had burned out of his sockets and his throat had melted under the heat.

The sounds of battle died away. He turned and watched as the Argonian made his way up the hill and over to his friend. Both he and Sylgja had looks of distaste on both of their faces. Their reaction was normal. It wasn't every day that bandits exploded and burned alive in front of you.

Sylgja yanked the arrow free with a curse and let it clatter to the ground. Aegis watched her wince with pain even as she retrieved a healing potion from her belt and drank a sizable portion of it. The rest she smeared on the arrow wound. The potion was powerful enough to mend the flesh itself, he noticed. No merchant apothecary stocked potions like that without adding large sums to their prices. The girl was either heavier with gold than he realized, or she had brewed it herself.

Other than the shifting of his eyes underneath the dark slits of his helmet, Aegis did not move. He could have healed her, it would have barely tapped his magicka reserves. He recognized the angry, pride-wounded look the woman had in her eyes. It was the same look he had seen on Minerva's own face many times before.

She approached him, a scowl on her face and her warhammer hefted in her hands. "I could have handled that!" she barked.

He didn't respond immediately. He was waiting for the inevitable, when the remaining bandits in the fort would leave to find out what all the fuss was about.

"I never stated that you couldn't," he said evenly, after no threats emerged. "But you would have been an easy target for the archers after dispatching those men. I solved both problems."

The defiant look on the woman's faltered for a moment, but only just. "You-"

"It's not a big deal, Syl," Derkeethus said. "Just let it go."

"That would be best," Aegis agreed. He glanced at the entrance to the fort. "We have killed those guarding it, but this hive will be stirring soon."

Sylgja glared at him one last time before sighing and brushing her hair out of her eyes. Aegis found himself wondering how soft it was. A foolish thought, a waste.

Derkeethus pulled a fresh arrow from his quiver and knocked it home. "So what's the plan?" he hissed.

Aegis was grateful that his hapless companions couldn't see the smile that had crept onto his face. There was something about analogies that brought warmth to his hardened heart, even if they were cliched and theatrical.

"We do what must be done when any hive grows warlike," he told them. He lifted his hands into the air, fingers splayed. Fire rose from his palms and licked the air with magical greed.

"You burn it," Sylgja finished for him.

He nodded. She was learning.

Maybe the woman would be useful after all.

* * *

The fort's other occupants were slowly emerging. In searching for their comrades, they only found death.

Sylgja engaged quickly, determined to show Aegis that she could handle herself. The man's tone indicated that he thought her unworthy of his time. She'd use her skill and show him otherwise.

She found herself tangling with a bear of a man who was wearing a fur kilt and nothing else. A large steel battleaxe was in the grip of his dirty, meaty hands. He swung at her with reckless abandon, a blow aimed to take her head off.

Sylgja smashed the weapon to the side with the head of her hammer and broke the man's jaw with a swipe of Shieldbane's pommel. He staggered and she hit him low. The blow all but severed the man's leg at the knee. He howled and fell to the ground, bleeding profusely from the shattered limb.

Not wanting to draw the man's death out longer than she needed to, Sylgja raised her hammer to deliver the killing blow. Movement in the corner of her eye forced her to shift into a block as a rusty mace flew at her head. She knocked the weapon aside with practiced ease and let the man stumble into the dirt, cursing as he fumbled to retrieve the weapon that had tumbled from his grasp. The killing blow she had been preparing for the first bandit ended the second's life instead. Sylgja turned and saw that the other bandit had bled out.

As she looked for more targets, Sylgja saw that Aegis was engaged with a trio of enemies, two Nords and a Dunmer, all dressed in furs. She watched as one of the Nords swung at Aegis with a steel war axe. The armored mage shifted, ducked under the strike and impaled his attacker through the chest on the shimmering point of his summoned sword. A tearing sound filled the air as Aegis yanked upward and split the Nord open from torso to forehead. The kill was unashamedly brutal, a tactic used to frighten an opponent. Sylgja knew how effective such fighting could be, but it hardly seemed honorable.

Then again, they were killing people indiscriminately. She could hardly judge.

Derkeethus was nearby, wrapped in the glow of a fresh mageflesh spell. He was doing his best to deal with the quartet of bandit archers that had made their way onto the ramparts. He dodged arrows with his usual grace and fired back, his aim true even under pressure. One of the bandits cried out as an arrow found his stomach and the man slumped to the ground.

Knowing that the armored mage could more than handle himself, Sylgja chose to assist her Argonian friend. She sprinted past him, warhammer ready, and charged up a set of wooden stairs to reach the archers.

Seeing the charge, two of the remaining archers focused their attentions on Sylgja. They loosed arrows in an effort to put her down, but she breezed past them with ease, even in her heavy armor. The third archer turned to fire on her, but an arrow from Derkeethus punched into his throat and put the bandit down.

With a mighty cry, Sylgja closed in on the last two archers, who at least had enough sense to abandon their bows and draw daggers. Not that it did any good, as she killed both with a sweep of Shieldbane that sent their bodies tumbling off the wall.

"Thanks for the assist!" Derkeethus shouted. Sylgja turned and saw her friend waving, a reptilian grin spread across his features.

"Same to you!" she shouted back, a smile on her face. There was a certain amount of satisfaction in fighting alongside a friend, someone she trusted implicitly.

Sylgja stole a glance at the mage. His opponents were dead, charred husks that were splayed in gruesome poses of death. She made a note not to get on Aegis' bad side. Burning alive wasn't on her list of things she wanted to experience.

The courtyard clear, the three converged outside the large doors that led into the fort's interior. Sylgja was a little out of breath, but it faded as she took a drink from one of her stamina potions. The green liquid was somewhat bitter, made so by the purple mountain flower and saber cat tooth she had used to make the potion. A small sip was all that she needed to get her energy back. Derkeethus didn't look like he had even broken a sweat. Sylgja wondered if Argonians _could _sweat.

"Think there's more inside?" Derkeethus asked as he checked his bowstring. He looked nervous. Sylgja knew he didn't like fighting indoors. Archery was a limited skill when inside a building, and though Derkeethus was an expert bowman, the Argonian wasn't particularly skilled with his sword.

"There are always more inside," Aegis replied curtly. "Though their numbers have been thinned to by a significant amount, they will continue to fight. However, those that remain will be easily frightened. We will use this to our advantage."

"And how do we do that?" Sylgja asked. She was starting to figure out how the mage operated.

"Simple. We play on that fear." He looked away from the warrior and the archer and over at a patch of bare earth.

"Ignis, my dear."

There was no ball of magic, no hand encased in spell. No sound of summoning split the air. No, the Flame Atronach simply seemed to appear from the nothingness of the air, as if simply having stepped from behind a wall and into view. With a form that was achingly feminine and a body comprised of armored flames, the Atronach gazed upon the mortals with the flames where its eyes should have been. Derkeethus and Sylgja gaped as the Daedra floated toward them, its feet hanging a few inches above the ground. It left a small but noticeable trail of flame behind it as it moved, a smile pursed between its small, pert lips.

Aegis held out a hand toward the creature, as if showing off a display. "I present to you, Ignis, daughter of the First Flame." The Atronach floated a bit higher and somersaulted, as if acknowledging the introduction. Aegis nodded and looked at his dumbstruck companions. "She expresses her curiosity, but acknowledges your existance. That is more than she does for most. You should be honored."

Derkeethus, with his usual lack of tact, was the first to speak. "You... you named that thing? That Daedra?"

Sylgja fancied she could feel the fury radiating from Aegis as the mage clenched his hands. The Daedra certainly seemed agitated, it had crossed its arms and the fires that made up its body flickered with increased voracity.

Aegis took two steps forward and grabbed Derkeethus by the neck of his leather jerkin. He pulled the Argonian close and Derkeethus could feel the man's breath through the metal mask of his helmet. "You will address her with respect, and only respect. Ignis has existed since the Dawn Era, and will continue to exist long after the bones of all mortals are nothing but dust. Do you understand?"

Derkeethus nodded with obvious haste and Aegis released his grip. The archer took a few steps back and shot the mage and his Atronach a glare. He opened his mouth to speak but quickly shut it, well aware of the sheer power that seemed to radiate from the odd pair.

Thankfully, Sylgja intervenned. "So what should we call her?" The idea of referring to a... Daedra as a person, let alone a female was ridiculous, but the severity in Aegis' tone left no room for argument.

Aegis looked at Sylgja, as if he was surprised that she was there. He shifted his gaze to the Atronach and then nodded. "You may refer to her as Ignis, as is proper. Her true name will never be divulged to you, as she does not find you worthy."

Sylgja just shrugged. The day was getting weirder and weirder. "If that's done, we should get moving. You have a plan, I assume?"

Aegis just stared for a moment before answering. "Yes. Ignis will lead and clear the way. Her fire will cleanse the infestation ahead of us. We will fan out, the Argonian in the center, and deal with the foes she does not deign to engage. My Lady is particular about those she burns."

Derkeethus gulped audibly. "So, we're following the..." he saw that Aegis was staring at him. "Okay, fine. Lead the way."

Aegis nodded and pulled the large doors open. He bowed as Ignis floated inside, then let spellfire crackle around his hands as he followed after her.

Sylgja and Derkeethus trudged in after them. "I don't do _kkhekk'n _Daedra!" he hissed under breath. "Didn't we just talk about this?"

Sylgja hefted her warhammer and kept a wary eye open for bandits. "We can discuss it afterward," she whispered at him. "Right now, just focus on the fight at hand."

The Argonian muttered a curse, but he kept pace with the others. Their intrusion didn't go unnoticed, and bandits began to move in from all sides.

Like a vengeful goddess, Ignis wasted no time in dispatching those that dared to raise their weapons against her. With an agility and grace that was as deadly as it was alien, the atronach burned her foes with practiced ease. She conjured fireballs tossed them playfully, incinerating bandits even as they charged at her. The air was suddenly filled with the smell of burning flesh. Sylgja did her best not to retch, but she found herself gagging a little. She chose to focus on the trio of bandits closing in on her.

With Aegis and Sylgja blocking attackers from both sides, Derkeethus felt a little more at-ease. He had ample time to draw and fire, even in the enclosed space. He shifted to one side and dropped one of Sylgja's attackers with a practiced shot. Another draw and pull had a bandit snarling as an arrow bit deep into her shoulder.

Bolstered by the knowledge that Derkeethus was watching her back, Sylgja charged forward and yanked Shieldbane into a powerful spin. The blow hit a bandit in the ribs and Shieldbane's pointed hook punched deep into his flesh. She pulled the hammer free, leaving a massive, bleeding hole in her wake. The bandit's mouth frothed with blood and he fell to the ground. The last bandit, arrow still protruding from her shoulder, proved little challenge. Sylgja crushed her head with a mighty swing.

Aegis, more than capable of dealing with such numbers on his own, barely had to exercise effort to kill the pair of bandits that ran to engage him. He dodged a pair of clumsy strikes stepped in close. Off balance, the bandits were unprepared as Aegis cloaked himself in a whirl of flames. Simply being close was enough to set them alight. The bandit's screams echoed throughout the old fort.

A few more deaths and the sounds of combat died away. Sylgja nudged a fallen bandit with her armored boot. "Guess that was all of them." She was sweating, both from the exertion of battle and the heat of the fire that the mage and his Atronach had been using. Smoke collected on the ceiling, and the smell of cooking flesh was everywhere.

Derkeethus, who looked a bit green around the gills, nodded respectfully at Aegis and Ignis. "If you don't mind, I think I'll step outside for a bit." Not waiting for an answer, Derkeethus all but rushed back the way they came.

To her amazement, Aegis chuckled. "That one... heh. You hold good company, Sylgja of Shor's Stone. He is a stalwart fighter, if not sometimes squeamish. I remember..." He drifted off, as if lost in memory.

Sylgja held her breath, partly from the smell, but also because she was waiting to see if the mage was about to divulge any information about himself.

"It holds little importance," he said after a moment's silence. Sylgja let out an exasperated gasp, one that Aegis ignored. The armored mage pulled his helmet off and set it on a table before turning to the Atronach at his side. He fell to one knee and bowed his head. "You have my thanks, my Lady. You may return to your plane, if that is your desire."

There was a throb in the air, like a sound beyond hearing. Sylgja's eyes widened as she realized that the Atronach was laughing. Sylgja watched, fascinated, as Ignis floated toward Aegis. With a delicate hand of blazing flame, the Daedra reached down and caressed the right side of the mage's face. Her touch was tender, almost loving. Some unspoken thought passed between Ignis and Aegis, and the mage looked up into her eyes and whispered something Sylgja couldn't hear.

Then, without any warning, the Atronach vanished.

Aegis remained that way for a moment longer before slipping his helmet back over his head. An awkward silence had descended over the room, one that Sylgja was unwilling to break.

Thankfully, she didn't need to. "We should see what kind of valuables these scum kept for themselves," Aegis said quietly. He slowly made his way toward a set of stone stairs. After a moment's stare, Sylgja followed him.

* * *

They met Derkeethus outside a few minutes later. There was a large smile on Sylgja's face, on account of all the loot she and Aegis had managed to find. She carried two mid-sized bags of gold and gems in her hands. She tossed one to Derkeethus, who caught it with his nimble claws.

"My share?" he wondered aloud as he sifted through the bag. It was almost filled to the brim with septims. He could see a few garnets and a pair of flawless amethysts within it as well.

"Your share," Sylgja confirmed. Her own bag containd a considerable amount of coin and a single flawless sapphire.

"It was more than I had expected," Aegis acknowledged. "These bandits must have been successful in their foul endeavors in order to accumulate so much coin. It is good we wiped them out." Neither he nor Sylgja mentioned that Aegis had neglected to take any of the gems, instead opting for a smaller amount of gold, a few magical scrolls and a small bag of soul gems.

Sylgja turned to the mage and looked at him expectantly. "Well, I suppose that's our day then? Bandits dead, problem solved, right?"

The mage's winged helm nodded. "We are done here. Your skills are more than adequate for my purposes. I would suggest that you spend the remainder of your time acquiring the supplies you will need for the journey. Food and water, above anything else." He started walking toward the fort's entrance, his bag slung over his shoulder.

Derkeethus pulled his quiver off his back and checked his arrow count. "Gonna need to stop by the Drunken Huntsman, pick up some replacements."

Sylgja nodded and slipped her bag of gold into her belt before yanking Shieldbane off of her back. The warhammer had more than proved itself. She was going to have to thank Adrianne personally. "We did good today, weirdness aside.'

Derkeethus shrugged and started walking. "I'll admit, that went a lot better than I thought it would."

She laughed and followed him out of the courtyard. "That's only because you thought he would sacrifice us to a Daedra."

The Argonian glanced over at Aegis, who was walking the road in the distance. "Almost thought it would happen when he summoned that... thing. What the hell kind of madman names a Flame Atronach?"

She didn't answer immediately. Derkeethus hadn't seen the brief, intimate moment that Aegis and Ignis had shared. Sylgja was still conflicted about it, but was willing to refrain from judgement. She had just killed a lot of bandits, after all.

She chose her words carefully. "I don't think we know the whole story. It wouldn't be right to assume anything."

"Maybe he's sleeping with it," Derkeethus hissed, almost vindictive. "Think about it. He got all defensive when I didn't call the Daedra by its 'name.' What does that tell you?"

Sylgja gave her friend a swift smack upside his head. "It tells me that you've got a sick head, lizard. Keep it up and I'll tell Lynly that you've been daydreaming about other women."

"You wouldn't!" he said, blanching.

She gave him a lopsided grin. "I might, if you don't leave the mage alone. Seriously, okay? We do this job and that's it. I doubt he'll want us around after it's done."

Derkeethus raised an eyebrow. "What happened to your pledge, your promise? I thought you'd end up going all housecarl for him, or something."

Sylgja shrugged and kicked at a loose stone. "He made it pretty clear to me that he doesn't want a hanger-on. I'm not going to trail him like a sad dog, either. He was nice enough to give me this opportunity. I'll learn what I can and move on. After that?" She drifted off, not sure how to finish.

She felt Derkeethus place a comforting claw on her shoulder. "Something'll come up. Something always does, you said so yourself." A grin split his face. "C'mon. I don't know what you've got planned after shopping, but I plan on getting some more of that Black-Briar mead in me."

She smiled. "You're a good friend, Derk."

"Yeah yeah, don't get all mushy on me. Let's make tracks, I feel like I could eat an entire horker."

Sylgja laughed and picked up her pace. Looking ahead, she saw the walls of Whiterun looming closer, beckoning her forward with the promise of rest after a long day. She felt good, despite everything.

So caught up in her good fortune, Sylgja didn't notice the small, armored figure as it turned away from where it had been standing and watching.

* * *

_You are awfully broody today, love. More so than usual. I was pleased that you invited me to join you in your quest today, but you seemed distracted._

Aegis refrained from chuckling aloud. _If I was, it was only by your beauty, my Lady._

Laughter like crackling flame echoed in his thoughts. _Ever the flatterer. You mortals can be so amusing._

_Is that all I am to you? _he asked, teasing

_You are my favorite mortal_, she chided. _The same cannot be said for anyone else in history. You... fire burns so bright in you. It is beautiful._

_Now who's the flatterer?_

A giggle. _I enjoyed the look on the reptile's face when you asked for me. And when you set me to_ _burn_... He could almost feel her shuddering in pleasure. _It was wonderful. We have not had that sort of fun in too long._

_I apologize. My mind has been elsewhere._

More laughter, wonderful and warm.

_The human girl seemed less surprised, as though she was expecting something. She is wiser than your thoughts give her credit for. _

_What I think of the girl is none of your concern._

_Oh, what's this? A different kind of flame burns in you, one I have not seen in ages. You are... attracted, yes?_

His hands clenched into fists. _Nothing of the sort. She... Oblivion damn it. _

The reply came softer this time, comforting. _Does she remind you of the Redguard woman? She certainly has that fighting spirit about her, that is certain. The way she hold herself to a higher standard, the way she fights against difficult odds, how she loathes weakness. It is strange, is it not? The Redguard was ebon, this woman is ivory. The hair is similar as well. She makes you uncomfortable, is that it?_

Silence was his answer. After a moment of quiet, she entered his mind again. _Do you wish me to be in your dreams tonight, love? I will comfort you, if that is your desire._

He stopped and looked back over his shoulder. The Nord and the Argonian were closer now. He could see them sharing another moment of camaraderie.

"That would be nice," he said aloud.

"Thank you, Ignis."

* * *

**LM here,**

**Okay, this one was really fun to write. Short, but really fun. Got to have some interesting character interaction, a lot of blood and burning (yay!), and I finally got to add the character I've been dying to write. Pretty, pretty Ignis. **

**Ask any of my friends, I've got an unhealthy fascination and respect for fire. That's translated somewhat into Aegis' character, seeing as how he only ever used fire spells in my playthrough. What can I say, trolls don't respond to it well. And I hate trolls.**

**Ignis is the Latin word for fire, which made it appropriate as the Atronach's name. I love how adorable Bethesda made the Flame Atronachs in Skyrim. They seem so playful, even as they roast that necromancer alive. I just had to have one in this story.**

**The fire Daedra aside, I really enjoyed Sylgja and Derkeethus' banter. They mesh well together, despite any trepidation I might have had about making these two characters best friends. Yes, best friends. They ain't fuckin'. **

**Anyway, hope you enjoyed this latest installment. Let me know what you think, I love hearing from you guys.**

**All my best,**

**Levi Matthews**


	5. Hitting the Road

Hitting the Road

* * *

**Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Skyrim or the Elder Scrolls series. All credit for this story goes to the wonderful minds at Bethesda.**

**Song Credit: The majority of this chapter was written while listening to Together by Idenline. God Bless Idenline.**

* * *

_Journal Entry 124_

_4th Era 178_

_Sun's Dusk, 17th Day._

_I am going to kill them all._

_I thought that murdering Sondar would be enough to slake my thirst for revenge, but that is not the case. My fingers ache to bring destruction to the ranks of the Thalmor, to rend their flesh and burn their bodies. I want to explode them with magic and cleave them with sword. I look within for solace and temperance, but I find only hate and rage._

_I did not expect the death of Arrows-From-High to affect me this much._

_Ralyn is taking it just as hard, if not more so. Normally boisterous and lighthearted, he is quiet and brooding, sharpening his blades in the dark of his tent. Ralyn's torture of the High Lord held nothing of the twisted, macabre humor he usually exerts when dealing with war criminals. He said nothing, made no jokes as he tore into the Thalmor leader with his knives. There was only blood and the sound of cutting flesh and heavy breathing. He only stopped because I turned him away. I did my part to make the High Lord suffer, but it was little more than pissing in the wind. Sondar was broken long before I started on him._

_Minerva, the bitch, she does not grieve. I knew she was a cold, ambitious thing, but I did not expect apathy from her, not in the case of Arrows-From-High. It was only a few days ago that the two were trading jokes like old friends, now she treats his memory as if he were a stranger in passing. When the news reached her ears, from my own lips, no less, she said nothing. I expected some silence, some moment of reverence, but none came. She turned and went back into her tent to hold war counsel with her generals. Kematu and Nazir later offered me their condolences, but that was all I heard from the supposed 'leaders' of this war effort. Minerva acted as though nothing had happened, that the death of one of the greatest souls I have ever known was of no consequence._

_I think I am going to kill her. At least the Alik'r respected Arrows-From-High enough to grant some acknowledgement of his passing. Their armies were silent for a day, save for muted whispers and mourning songs. As for Minerva, I am almost in a rage. Only the voice of my Lady keeps my hand in check for the time being. Ignis is far more interested in my well-being than she lets on. She and Ralyn are the only true friends I have left in this war-torn desert._

_Friends. They are becoming scarce in this place, though I had few to begin with. My allies within the Alik'r lessen each day. Only Nazir and Kematu remain open to my counsel, though Kematu has grown somewhat weary of me and Nazir only listens because of the comradeship he shares with Ralyn. _

_I miss Arrows-From-High greatly. His presence was always a boon during difficult times, like a spot of calm in a storming sea. I could always count on him for support, even when I did not ask for it. The stories he told of Black Marsh kept our spirits bright even when things seemed their darkest. He was a better soul than this land deserved. Far better._

_Reesha is now without her mate. I gathered the gold Arrows-From-High entrusted to me and met her outside of Gilane. I gave her the gold, along with some of my own, and told her to leave Hammerfell as soon as she was able. I noticed the small bulge of the egg in her belly, though I said nothing. She is with child. This land is no place for her._

_She hugged me, tears in her eyes. She told me I was a good man, that Arrows-From-High promised that I would look out for her if something happened to him. I wish I could have given her more than just gold in that moment, but I found that I could not speak. I wept, the tears hidden behind my golden mask. It occured to me that I could not remember the last time I had wept openly. I saw Reesha on her way and did not look back._

_I will not remain in Hammerfell for much longer. This war is almost over, and soon the Thalmor will be driven from this land for good. Taneth remains their last bastion on the continent before Rihand. Soon both will belong to the Alik'r and Stros M'Kai will be ripe for the taking. Her general dead and her navy destroyed, it is only a matter of time before I find the 'retired' Lady Arannelya and burn her alive. _

_I have spoken to Ralyn. He says that, if he should live to see it, he will not remain in Hammerfell after this conflict has reached its end. He believes he will return to Morrowind, or perhaps journey to Solstheim. I will likely not see him again if we go our separate ways. High Rock, as tarnished as my memories of it are, is still my home. The School of Julianos still stands, and they will have a place for me after my mercenary work is over. Quiet study will be a welcome change to all this travel and war._

_My time in this place will one day end, either from my death or my departure. As much as I detest the situation I am in, I will see this war through until I believe I can offer no further use to the armies of Hammerfell. This war is greater than my personal wants. I will fight on until I see an end to this, no matter how bitter it may be. __All that remains is to survive the trials that await._

_Thalmor blood waits to be spilled, and I ache with anticipation._

* * *

Present Day. 4th Era 200. Sundas the 29th, Evening Star.

Four days before the advent of Morning Star, year 201

* * *

"Well, this isn't awkward or anything."

Derkeethus looked at from Sylgja to Aegis and then back again. "Are we really just going to sit in silence the whole way there?"

The carriage bounced along the road, its three passengers jostled every time its wooden wheels would hit a bump or a dip. Derkeethus was sitting next to Sylgja, with Aegis sitting across from both. The mage hadn't said more than three words since they had met that morning. Just an, "Are you prepared?" followed by a nod when Syl had affirmed as much.

Oddly, it was Aegis who responded to Derkeethus' comment. "It was quiet until you started speaking, Argonian. Do you have questions? Or are you simply trying to fill with noise the space your nervousness now occupies?"

Derkeethus shot the armored man a glare. The mage had just shown up that morning, while he and Syl had been waiting by the carriage. Derkeethus had no idea where Aegis had stayed the night, as he certainly hadn't slept at the Bannered Mare. He had paid the carriage driver out of his own pocket and had said nothing since. There was a smaller, more compact pack of darker leather strapped to the mage's back, and the man hadn't removed it since.

Derkeethus and Sylgja had spent the rest of the previous day getting supplies for the journey. With the gold from the bandit fort and the rest of the coins that Derkeethus had won in the archery competition, the adventuring pair had gotten themselves some new leather packs and filled them with dried meats, fruits and vegetables, and a few bottles of Derkeethus' new favorite, Black-Briar Mead. Even after all the purchases, Sylgja and Derkeethus still had a sizable amount of gold between them, something the Argonian could be happy about. At least he knew he had something to fall back on if their little trip to Ivarstead turned out to be a wild netch-chase.

Sylgja, for her part, was enjoying the trip with a smile on her face. They hadn't left Whiterun Hold proper, as the road to Ivarstead winds around High Hrothgar itself. The mountain loomed above them, a Nordic legend. White clouds swirled around its peak, a cloak that had hung over the mountain for... well, as long as anyone could remember.

Derkeethus noticed Sylgja staring at the mountain and followed her gaze. He gave a little hiss of awe. "Biggest mountain on Tamriel. Makes you feel small just thinking about it."

"It wasn't always the largest," Aegis stated, drawing looks from both adventurers. "Dagoth Ur in Morrowind was larger, before Baar Dau crashed into Vivec and caused it to erupt."

Sylgja raised an eyebrow. "Dagoth Ur? Baar Dau? What are you talking about?"

Aegis inclined his head. "Apologies, I forget that most don't refer to such things by their traditional Dunmeri names. Dagoth Ur is what the Dark Elves called Red Mountain. Baar Dau was their name for the Ministry of Truth, the temple that floated above Vivec in the last age. Vivec was annihilated when the Ministry fell from the sky. Red Mountain erupted as a result. Most of Vardenfell is wasteland now, and the Argonians of Black Marsh forced most of the Dunmer from their homes in the following invasion." He noticed their expressions and uttered a soft chuckle. "Apologies, it was not my intent to bore you with a history lesson."

Sylgja smiled in spite of herself. "You're a historian, then?"

"Something like that."

Aegis remained silent after that, forcing Derkeethus to speak up against the silence once more. "You maybe want to tell us who we're meeting? I don't like being in the dark for this kind of stuff."

"I admit," Sylgja began, "I'm curious as well. I can't imagine what sort of company you keep, Aegis." She used the name he had given her, but it sounded strange on her tongue. Artificial. It didn't sit well with her, that he used a false name. The magic and eccentricity she could handle, but the name gave her pause. It meant that Aegis had something he felt he needed to hide from others, and that bothered Sylgja to no end. What was it that made him speak of his killings and destruction he had wrought so casually, yet he would not utter his own name?

"You'll see soon enough," he responded, unwilling to give ground. "Rest assured in this; my contact is no stranger than I, and I have known him for many years."

Derkeethus' eyes rolled in their sockets. "Well, that certainly makes me feel better."

Sylgja nudged her friend with her elbow and shot him a playful glare. "That's enough out of you."

"Yes, mother," Derkeethus said, dry humor flicking off of the end of his tongue.

Aegis shifted in his seat a little. Sylgja watched curiously. Was he... uncomfortable? Did their camaraderie bother him?

A voice from the front of the carriage interrupted Sylgja's thoughts. "So, you folks headed down ta' Ivarstead? Couldn't have picked better weather, if I may say so." It was the carriage driver, a Nord man with an accent that placed him as being from somewhere in Eastern Skyrim. Sylgja picked up on it almost instantly, it was the same accent her father carried, one that placed heavy emphasis on sharp word-endings.

Aegis' reply was both cold and concise. "Your job is not to talk. Your job is to drive."

A huff from the driver. "Fine 'den, I'll keep to m'self." He turned his head to look back at Sylgja. "Don't know why you're travelin' with these foreigners, miss, but I certainly hope you know what you're getting into."

Before Sylgja could say anything, Aegis stood up in the carriage, magic coursing around his fingers. "Silence!" the armored man hissed. A summoned bow was in his hands almost instantly, and he reached behind him and plucked an ethereal arrow from its glowing quiver. "We are not alone." The carriage stopped, and the driver cast nervous looks from side to side.

"Why are you stopping?" Aegis snarled. He saw that the horse was agitated, but showed no signs of wanting to bolt. Something was off.

The look on the driver's face was one of pity. "I'm sorry about 'dis. Truly, I am."

Sylgja rose, grabbing Shieldbane from where it rested next to her and she hefted the warhammer in her hands. Derkeethus scrambled to get up, cursing and quickly nocking an arrow into his bow.

The bandits didn't even try to hide. No, they simply strode down a path in the cliffs, brazen in the daylight. Nine of them, each geared for war. There were three leather-wearing archers in the group, an Orc, a Bosmer and an Imperial, all hanging toward the back of the cluster. Four warriors marched at the front of the formation. a Redguard woman and three Nord brutes. Each warrior brandished a two-handed weapon and all of them were wearing heavy armor of Nordic steel. In the center of the formation stood a Nord, obviously the bandit chief, who wore in a massive set of Orcish armor all the way up to his neck. His piggish face was filthy with dirt and had his grimy red hair cut into a messy warhawk. He carried an Orisch battleaxe in one hand and a golden spear of Dwemer metal in the other. Next to the chief stood a female Argonian of pale-pink scale coloration. Dressed in dirty furs and only an iron dagger at her belt, the glowing claws were more than enough to give the hedge-mage away.

Aegis snarled and jumped off the side of the carriage with a dexterity that shouldn't have been possible in his steel plate, but he achieved it nevertheless. Sylgja had to resort to hopping off of the end of the carriage, while Derkeethus crouched low and drew his bow horizontally, making himself a smaller target. He muttered a spell and made a quick gesture with his hands

The bandit chief stopped in his confident stride and grinned. "Look here, boys and girls. Seems that the Divines have seen fit to bless us with a bounty this fine day." His gaze swept across Aegis and Derkeethus before settling on Sylgja. "My my, aren't you a pretty thing. I'll enjoy breaking you."

It didn't show on her face, but Sylgja's blood ran cold at the bandit's words. They were outnumbered and lacked the element of surprise. Sylgja had no intention of losing to the brigands, but she would slit her own throat before becoming their plaything.

She glanced at Aegis, hoping that the armored mage had a plan. Aegis said nothing, but his helmet shifted slightly toward her. 'Let me handle this,' the gesture seemed to say.

"I'll speak only once," the mage began. His voice was loud and booming from underneath the helmet. He swept his gaze across the plethora of bandits eyeing each of them until it settled on the leader. "Abandon your plans now. I have never shown an enemy mercy. Should you attack, you will die."

They laughed, all of them, as if they had just heard a hilarious joke. One of the Nord warriors spat on the ground and gestured threateningly with his greatsword. "D'you know who 'dis is? This is Hajvarr Iron-Hand, leader of the White River Gang! We're the toughest bandits in all the nine Holds, and you're today's catch!" The loudmouth grinned evilly with a mouth that was little more than missing or broken teeth.

"I don't care who you are. If you were significant, I'd already know you."

The loudmouth snarled and bashed a hand against his chest. "You shut yer yap, you filth!"

Aegis inclined his head and his gaze settled upon a rock formation set in the cliffs, one that sat just above the bandit gang. Sylgja heard him whisper something and she saw Ignis appear on the outcrop, her hands alive with fire. Derkeethus' eyes widened as he caught sight of the Atronach, but he didn't give the Daedra away. Sylgja shifted her gaze back to the bandits to keep her gaze from giving away Ignis' position. Thankfully, the carriage driver didn't notice the entity that had suddenly appeared on the rocks above. The horse whinnied again, this time in fear, but nobody paid the animal any attention.

Iron-Hand lifted his spear and pointed it menacingly toward the carriage driver. Light glinted off of its polished surface. "Nice work bringing this group, Bjorlam. It's always a pleasure doing business with you."

Bjorlam looked away in shame. "I hate 'dis mess. You're a bastard, Hajvarr."

Sylgja shot the man a glare. "You spineless snowback! You take our gold, then you sell us out to these fiends?"

"And they say you can't hire good help these days," Derkeethus hissed.

Iron-Hand laughed. "Bjorlam here has good business sense. He brings me you half-wits what want to travel East, I kill'em and take their stuff. In return, Bjorlam gets his cut and I don't tear his arms off. It's a mutual relationship we have going."

Aegis' bow vanished and he summoned his sword into his hand and pointed it at Iron-Hand. "Enough. I'll not be delayed by the likes of you."

A wicked smile split Iron-Hand's face. "You heard him. Get to work, boys!"

It was then that Ignis decided it was time to strike.

A ball of fire flew through the air and immolated the Bosmer archer. Engulfed in flame, the elf shrieked. His cries drew the gazes of the bandits away from their quarry long enough for Sylgja and Aegis to move in closer and gave Derkeethus the opening he needed to plant an arrow into the throat of the Orc bowman. The Orsimer gurgled in pain, collapsed, and died.

With a snarl that wouldn't have been out-of-place on a Sabre Cat, Sylgja charged into the line of the bandit warriors. She caught her first opponent off-guard and delivered a blow with Shieldbane that struck the Nord's stomach and left a deep dent in the steel armor. The man collapsed to the ground, winded. Sylgja finished him off with a strike to the head that shattered his skull.

Aegis wasted no time and engaged two bandits at once. With a speed that was still unreal for a man covered in heavy plate, the mage shifted and weaved as his opponents attempted to hit him with their weapons. The Redguard woman, wielding a steel battleaxe with a twin-sided head, went wide-eyed as her vertical strike became a futile gesture when the armored mage ducked under the blow. One swipe of his phantom sword sent the axe flying out of the bandit's reach. Aegis rose from his crouch just as the other bandit charged, using the point of his greatsword like a lance. The Nord, the loudmouth from earlier, felt as his weapon punched through armor and bit deep into flesh.

Unfortunately, his intended target had deflected the strike. The Nord found that he had impaled his fellow bandit instead, killing the Redguard almost instantly.

"As predictable as the sun," Aegis muttered as he decapitated the bandit with a swipe of his incorporeal sword. He turned, watching as an arrow from the Argonian sliced into one of the Imperial archer's eyes and downed him in mid-draw. Sylgja was in the midst of battling her second bandit, but she had the man well-outclassed. It was only a matter of time before the Nord woman bested her enemy.

Aegis turned and faced the bandit chief. His hedge-mage was busy trading spellfire with Ignis, another example of a fight where one combatant severely outclassed the other. Ignis was playing with the poor creature, tossing weak fireballs designed to cause pain and infuriate while she dodged the lightning that the Argonian angrily threw her way.

Hajvarr Iron-Hand. Self-proclaimed bandit chief. There was a target that Aegis was more than willing to tear asunder.

Aegis knew what to expect from a heavily armed and armored opponent. Iron-Hand would be no stranger to furious, fast-paced combat. The reach of his battleaxe and spear greatly exceeded that of Aegis' summoned blades. It would be difficult to close in and get within Iron-Hand's reach to deliver a blow. The fight would be tiresome at best, dangerous at worst.

Unless, of course, Aegis changed the rules.

The sword vanished and became a bow, one that Aegis had drawn and aimed before Iron-Hand could even react. The Nord charged in with a bellow, bringing his left hand back to throw his spear.

Time seemed to slow down as Aegis held in his breath to steady his aim. The Dwemer missile sailed through the air and toward the plate-wearing mage, who seemed unperturbed by the assault. Calm as always, Aegis shifted slightly on his right foot and let the spear pass withing a few inches of his shoulder. He then adjusted his aim and loosed the phantom arrow that glowed between his fingers.

That was fighting, at least for Aegis. Confronting the enemy was important, yes. Establishing superiority and dominance was also important, but being unpredictable was key. A fair fight was pointless. Mercy was for the weak. The best fights were won using only what force was necessary, nothing more. He wasn't above using unnecessary force or fighting in an intimidating manner, but sometimes it wasn't needed. Sometimes simple was better.

And in the case of Hajvarr Iron-Hand, one arrow was all it took.

A streak of blue was the last thing the Nord saw. The arrow buried itself into his forehead, split his skull and tore through his brains before sticking fast through the back of his head. The mighty bandit chief dropped to his knees without a sound, blood pouring from the hole in his head. His axe slipped from his grasp and clattered to the ground. The armored bandit collapsed face-first into the dirt, his armor making a dull clang as it fell with him.

The bandit chief dead, Aegis turned his attention to the Argonian hedge-mage. She was all but broken, covered in burns and crawling along the ground. Ignis looked down on the lizard from her perch in the rocks, her fiery head cocked to one side as if asking, 'Done already?'

Aegis would have left the mage to suffer, but an arrow flew through the air and transfixed the Argonian through the back of her head. The steel-tipped shot killed the woman instantly. Aegis turned and saw Derkeethus glaring, his bow absent of a fresh arrow.

Sylgja, her opponent little more than an armored slump on the ground, looked at the carnage around her. She was little astounded at the ease of fighting alongside Aegis, even after the assault on Fort Greymoor. Or, rather, she was astounded at how _easy_ fights were now that Aegis was part of their little group. Nine against three? Well, four if you counted Ignis, but Sylgja wasn't ready to count the Atronach as a member of the team. The Daedra was more an extension of Aegis' power than anything else.

Still, the fight was over and Sylgja was no worse for wear. She looked over at Derk, who was standing up in the cart and stretching. "I hate crouching like that. Not good for my knees." He hopped off of the carriage and began picking over the bodies.

Sylgja cracked her neck from side to side and let Shieldbane rest across her shoulders. "It's scary how easy that was."

Aegis turned toward her, extinguishing the bow in his hands. "The bandits expected we would be easy prey, despite the fact that they were ambushing three armed and experienced fighters. They expected their numbers to give them the advantage skill could not." His helmet tilted as he looked at the corpses strewn across the road and hillside. "Of course, only the most staggering of numbers could usurp an opponent of greater skill. Even then, the distraction my Lady provided gave us a stronger edge and weakened them further. This fight was decided before it ever began."

Derkeethus looked up at the mage while he scrounged for arrows. "You ever run out of platitudes?"

"If you mean words of wisdom, then no."

Derkeethus huffed and picked up a handful of arrows. "Sounds like you've got it all figured out," he said with a roll of his eyes.

Aegis didn't acknowledge the sarcasm. "No, not all of it. But I know enough to give me an edge, and I know how to fight with both might and magic. You, though young and still learning, would do well to absorb as much useful information as possible while it presents itself to you. You have the potential to become a deadly skirmisher, if only you learn to _think_ like one. The first Arrows-From-High knew that."

Derkeethus found it very difficult to meet Aegis' gaze, even though the mage's face was still covered by the visor of his winged helm. "I..."

Sylgja's eyes went wide. "You knew Arrows-From-High?"

There was a moment of silence before Aegis turned to look at the Nord woman. "It was long ago and holds no relevance to our task. Let us move on, while the sun still rests in the sky."

Sylgja felt like pouting, but she managed to keep her sour thoughts in check. It was impossible to get the mage to reveal anything about himself. He'd drop a few hints, but they were just as quickly pushed aside in favor of moving on, something Sylgja couldn't argue with.

Aegis approached the carriage and saw the driver, Bjorlam, cowering on the other side of it. The Nord was paralyzed with fear and tears streamed down his face.

"I found our driver," the mage said as Derkeethus and Sylgja walked over. "What shall we do with him, I wonder?" He reached out and grabbed the driver by the collar of his shirt. The armored mage pulled the sniveling Nord close and conjured a flame into his free hand.

Derkeethus strapped his bow to his back and hefted a bag of the bandit's valuables onto the back of the carriage. "I say kill him. Lousy warm-blood has it coming, what with trying to hand us over to those bastards." The Argonian saw the scowl on Syl's face and winced. "If you do it, at least make it quick. He's not worth dragging it out." He climbed into carriage and sat on one of the benches.

"He's no threat to us," Sylgja protested, tossing Shieldbane into the back of the carriage. "We can take the carriage and just follow the road the rest of the way. Just let him go and we can get out of here."

Bjorlam found his voice, though it was little more than a fearful whisper. "Please... I-"

"Silence scum," the mage growled. "Your chance at words has long since passed."

Aegis glanced at Sylgja. She wished she could see the look on his face, just to have some idea of what he was thinking.

"Your naivete will be the death of you," the mage said softly. He extinguished the flame in his hand and Sylgja sighed in relief.

Then, and without saying a word, Aegis' hands wrapped around Bjorlam's head and wrenched it to one side.

Derkeethus winced. Sylgja gasped in horror. The body slumped out of Aegis' grip and fell to the ground in an inglorious heap. The horse whinnied with irritation but showed no other reaction to the death of its master.

"Shit," Derkeethus muttered as he looked away. "This is a great start to the day. Hist damn it all."

The look on Sylgja's face became one of sculpted anger and her eyes burned with outrage. "You didn't need to do that!" she cried. "The fight was over, we didn't need to kill anyone else!" She hopped out of the carriage and stomped over to the mage, her hands balled into fists.

Aegis turned and regarded her with his eyeless stare, whatever expression he was wearing covered up by the winged helm. She suddenly hated him, hated him more than she ever thought she could hate anyone. She had built him up as a savior, some kind of hero, but in the end he was nothing but a self-serving mercenary. She hated him for healing her and for letting her down when she finally caught up with him. She hated that she had allowed herself to be let down._  
_

"He was an accomplice to those murderers," the mage said quietly. "He led people to their deaths and took the gold that his bandit masters threw at him. He was a spineless coward and he deserved to die."

"It's not always that simple," Sylgja said angrily.

Aegis responded quietly, with none of the fury that burned in Sylgja. "What were your words? 'You spineless snowback.' Yes, I believe that was what you exclaimed. You and I felt the same way, Sylgja of Shor's Stone. He was nothing, even to your notions of 'honor.'"

Sylgja could feel her teeth grinding against one another in frustration. She cursed her words and the mage's sharp memory. "And what if he had a family?" she exclaimed. "What if this man was a husband, a father? What if someone was depending on him?" Aegis looked down at the body and Sylgja once more found herself wondering what his face might have revealed.. Was he remorseful? Was there regret in his eyes, or-

"I doubt a man as pathetic as this could have sired children," the mage said, cutting off Sylgja's thoughts, "let alone found a woman willing to bed him in the first place." His gaze turned up and Aegis' eye-slits fixed on Sylgja once more. "What does it matter? What difference does it make, had this man a wife and children that loved him? He made his choice, and I made mine." The armored mage crossed his arms. "Why do you care? The deed is done. A better question, why do you defend him? This man was willing to lead us to slaughter, the same as he did with others. Do you truly believe a man like that is worth defending, even after death? What does your glorified sense of 'honor' say about that?"

Sylgja was about to speak when Aegis turned away and walked over to where the Dwemer spear sat, glowing in the sunlight. The mage reached down and took the weapon into his hands, going over it with a practiced eye. He didn't say another word to Sylgja.

The conversation was over.

Still angry, Sylgja walked back over to the carriage and Derkeethus. Her friend extended a hand and pulled her into the back of the cart. She said nothing as she took a seat next to him, but her eyes met his and showed just how angry she was.

Derkeethus shrugged. "He's got a point, you know. The driver was a s_sh't n'kess,_ coward-scum. I'd probably have put him down myself, honestly."

Sylgja shot her friend a glare and the Argonian winced. "What? I'm just being honest. It's us or them out here, and I'm always going to choose us. You do the same thing when we get into fights. Why are you making this such a big deal?"

Sylgja shrugged. "I... I don't know, Derk. I guess I thought he'd be different, or something. We've never had to make decisions like that. That man wasn't fighting us, he was just stuck working for those bandits. Do you really blame someone like that for the actions of people like Iron-Hand?"

Aegis' voice cut into the conversation, prompting both Sylgja and Derkeethus to look up. "I cannot and will not blame someone for the choices of others. That being said, I can blame someone for the choices _they_ make themselves. If I am able to do something about it, I will, so long as I have the power to do so. That is _my_ choice. That's all we are at the end. We are the decisions we make and the consequences that follow."

Derkeethus said nothing and Sylgja kept her words to herself. Aegis approached the carriage, the Dwemer spear cradled in the crook of his arm. He climbed into the driver's seat and let the spear rest across his lap. He turned his head and looked up at Ignis, the Atronach perched playfully in the rocks above. Though she mimicked the gesture, the Atronach's hands and feet did not touch the rock itself. She floated a few inches above the solid surface.

"Thank you, my Lady," Aegis said to the Daedra. A pause. "I see. Thank you."

The Atronach vanished from the cliffs and Aegis took the reins and started the horse forward. "My Lady has sensed wolves approaching. The smell of blood must have caught their attention. They are waiting to see if we will depart, but will not be delayed by our presence for long. Their hunger is great."

Sylgja shivered at the thought. "I hate wolves," she muttered as the carriage started rumbling down the road.

Derkeethus patted her shoulder and leaned back in his seat. "No worries, Syl. A little while longer and we'll be in Ivarstead, eating warm food and drinking mead by the fire while Lynly plays her lute." A grin split his face. "Of course, she'll be playing for me, but you're more than welcome to listen in."

Sylgja managed a small smile. "Your generosity knows no bounds," she retorted, nudging his elbow. "Let's try to get there sooner rather than later. Here's hoping we don't bump into any more bandits on the way."

"My sentiments echo your own," Aegis said from his seat. He paused for a moment. "We are approaching the Valthiem Towers. Bandits have been known to take up residence there. Be ready for a fight."

Sylgja craned her neck and saw the ruins of the old towers in the distance. She couldn't make anything out, but she did see movement flitting around the tops of the towers and near the base. Derkeethus groaned and pulled an arrow out of his quiver.

"Great," the Argonian muttered as he nocked the arrow into his bow.

"I was just starting to get comfortable."

* * *

The fight at Valthiem Towers ended up being a longer skirmish than the encounter with the White-River gang, if only because the bandits were attacking from a fortified position. Derkeethus and Aegis opted to stick with the carriage and shoot arrows while Sylgja took on any bandits who were foolish enough to get in close. She funneled them through the small door leading into the towers and took them on one at a time. Derkeethus and Aegis scored the majority of the the kills, picking off bandits as they tried to cross the stone bridge that spanned the river between the two towers. They spent a little while taking what few valuables the bandits had before moving on.

The group found themselves at the crossroads near Fort Amol and met a Khajiit caravan and stopped to do some trading. The caravan was on its way to Whiterun from Windhelm and was delighted to come across some paying customers on the way. Sylgja entertained herself by bartering with the merchant Atahbah for some of the gear taken from the bandits while Derkeethus paid the caravan guard, Khayla for some pointers in being more stealthy. The caravan leader and Aegis stood off to the side and had a whispered discussion, one that Sylgja noticed out of the corner of her eye. The two seemed to know each other, as the Khajiit, who was named Ri'saad, grasped Aegis by both shoulders and patted them warmly.

She didn't catch any of what Ri'saad was saying and Aegis' mouth was obscured by his helmet, but she did see the large ruby that Aegis produced from his pack and how the caravan leader's eyes widened considerably. The cat took the gem and disappeared inside one of the caravan's covered wagons, emerging moments later with a small object wrapped in black silk. He handed it over quickly, as if unwilling to touch it. Aegis took it without a word and deposited it into his pack. They spoke for a moment longer and something the mage said caused Ri'saad to burst out laughing. Sylgja was almost stunned by that alone.

The sun had begun to get low in the sky by the time they finished trading with the caravan. They waved their goodbyes to the Khajiit, Sylgja happy with the fruits of her negotiations, and continued down the road to Ivarstead. The sun was fast fading by the time they hit the small, winding road that led up to the small village. The horse grew tired from the exertion of going uphill and needed to stop a few times as it pulled the group closer to their destination.

Sylgja and Derkeethus hopped off of the carriage to reduce the weight of the load being pulled by the horse. Aegis sat in the driver's seat and coaxed the animal onward in a forceful yet gentle manner.

Derkeethus cracked the knuckles of his claws as he walked and smiled with anticipation. "Almost there," he said quietly. "I can't wait to see Lynly again."

Sylgja smiled and clapped her friend on the shoulder. "I'm sure she'll be thrilled to see you too. Just don't get all starry-eyed before we get there, okay?"

"Lynly..." Aegis began, as though he was musing over the name, "That is not an Argonian name."

Derkeethus looked away sheepishly. "She's not an Argonian, she's a Nord. Reddish-blonde hair. Soft brown eyes. Tall. Great figure." His eyes gained that far-away expression again. "And a beautiful voice. More than that, even. When she sings... she reminds me of things I've never seen before." He glanced at Sylgja and then at Aegis. "Does that make any sense to you?"

Sylgja bit her tongue, not wanting to spoil the moment. It didn't make any sense to her. Derkeethus wasn't one for fanciful talk, but when he did use it he said things that made Sylgja wonder if he was touched by Sheogorath.

Aegis' reply almost floored her. "Your words make more sense than you give them credit for," the mage said softly. "If it does not bother you unduly, may I ask what attracts you, an Argonian, to a human woman?"

Derkeethus shrugged and his left hand toyed with the handle of the sword hanging from his belt. "It's just preference. I grew up in Darkwater Crossing with Syl, and there weren't any other Argonians other than me and my mother. I..." he looked away, suddenly conscious about how much information he was sharing.

Aegis, to his credit, said nothing when the Argonian failed to continue. He simply ushered the horse onward, up the hill until they reached flatland once more. Sylgja and Derkeethus trailed behind the carriage, their eyes open. The western reaches of the Rift were notorious for aggressive bears.

Their journey continued without incident, despite the swiftness of the setting sun. Sylgja and Derkeethus once again piled into the back of the carriage, saying nothing while Aegis guided their horse around the large lake that sat just before Ivarstead. The smoke from chimneys was visible in the distance, giving the town at the mountain's base an almost storybook look. The weary travelers in the back of the carriage grew excited at the prospect fresh beds, hot food and good company. Aegis gave no sign that he was looking forward to arriving in Ivarstead. He said nothing as he navigated the carriage across a small stone bridge and into the town proper.

Sylgja hopped off of the carriage and grinned, stretching her arms. "So good to be off of the road." Derkeethus nodded his agreement and disembarked as well, making sure his weapons were all secure on his person.

Aegis guided the carriage into an open space near the inn and pulled himself out of the driver's seat. He didn't stretch or make any sign that the journey had left him stiff. Sylgja couldn't fathom how he had managed to sit still in that heavy armor the entire time, but she was beginning to realize that the mage didn't seem to view wearing plate the same way she would have. The mage turned and strapped his spear to the inside of the carriage, securing it and the rest of their belongings under a heavy tarp that had once been Bjorlam's.

A guard approached, a hand resting on the hilt of her sword. The woman's voice was obviously that of a Nord, even though the speaker's face was obscured by the visor of her chainmail helmet, the design of which seemed to grace the head of every guard in Skyrim.

Derkeethus gave Sylgja a glance, but the warrior shrugged it off as the guard moved in closer. "Greetings," Sylgja called out to the woman, a light smile on her face. "It's good to see Ivarstead again."

The guard stopped just short of the carriage and gave the three travelers a glance. "As long as you cause no trouble, you're more than welcome in Ivarstead. Might I ask your business here?

Sylgja was about to reply, her usual adventurer-introducing platitudes ready on her tongue, but Aegis cut her off. "You might ask," the mage said smoothly, his voice like grating rock, "But then you'd only be disappointed. Sufficed to say we will be staying the night in the inn, we have plenty of gold to spend here in your town, and we are not bandits, thieves, or assassins. Is that sufficient for your purposes, or are we to be dragged off and interrogated?" The mage's words dripped with contempt.

Sylgja could have bashed the mage's face in and Derkeethus was looking on with wide eyes. The guard huffed and crossed her arms, the eyeholes of her helmet fixed on those of the plated man she was attempting to stare down. "Not the best way to introduce yourself to the local guard."

"I couldn't care less."

Sylgja jumped in, seeing through body language just how angry the guard was getting. "Don't mind my friend," she said warmly, putting on an apologetic smile. "We've just had a long trip and he tends to get a little agitated when he's been travelling for too long."

The guard looked over the group again and Sylgja once more cursed the fact that she couldn't see the face of the person she was talking with. All the helmets were really starting to get on her nerves.

"I'll let it slide," the guard said. Sylgja held back a sigh of relief. "But I'll be keeping an eye on you." The guard pointed at Aegis and began walking away. "Enjoy your stay in Ivarstead," the woman said as she left.

Sylgja rounded on Aegis as soon as the guard was out of earshot. "What in Oblivion was that?" she whispered angrily. "Are you trying to get us arrested? She was only doing her job!"

The mage turned and fixed her with that eyeless gaze once more. "The guards in this province poke their noses into the business of others far too often. You will forgive me if I find that a little agitating." The tone in his voice betrayed that the guard wasn't the only thing he found agitating. Aegis turned to walk toward the inn, but Sylgja grabbed him by the shoulder and spun the mage to face her.

"Listen up," Sylgja began, doing a poor job of keeping the angry snarl out of her voice. "We came all this way to meet your contact, one that you haven't told us a thing about. We could be going in there to chat with Sheogorath for all I know. That doesn't bother me." Her eyes flashed and she pulled her hand away from the mage's shoulder. "What does bother me is that you've treated us and the people we come across with nothing but disrespect. You're a scary armored mage, I get that. You don't want to talk about yourself and I respect that. You don't like guards? Fine. But as long as we're working together, you'll treat us like people instead of just unwanted noise, and you'll mind yourself while we're here." Sylgja pulled herself up to her full height and looked down at the armored mage in front of her. She only had half a head on the man, but it was enough.

"These towns get nervous enough when adventurers stroll into town and you're not helping." She was breathing heavy now, letting all of her frustrations out at once. "If that's a problem, Derk and I can leave. We'll take our things and go. But I'm not sticking around for a job with a man who's been nothing but an ass since we joined on. You want us for this job? Then shape up. Is that understood?"

Derkeethus' mouth was all but scraping against the ground. The Argonian looked as though he expected Sylgja would soon be engulfed in flame. Sylgja didn't seem to acknowledge the possibility, as she was too preoccupied with staring the mage down.

To their amazement, both the Nord and the Argonian looked on as Aegis nodded. "Fair enough," he said quietly. He looked at Sylgja to Derkeethus and back again. "My apologies. It has been some time since I have traveled in the company of others. Taking others into account has not been an issue until recently. I will endeavor not to cause more trouble."

Sylgja blanched. The mage sounded... sincere? She hadn't believed that the mage would even acknowledge her words, let alone respect them enough to apologize. It left her somewhat speechless.

Aegis, having said his piece, walked over to the horse and tied the animal to a nearby tree with a piece of rope he pulled out of his pack. The animal secure, he turned to his traveling companions and nodded at the inn. "Shall we step inside? My contact is likely waiting for us." Without waiting for their confirmation, Aegis began walking toward the front door of the wooden building.

Sylgja and Derkeethus followed quickly behind and the Argonian leaned in close to whisper into Sylgja's ear. "I thought you were dead for a second there. Thought Daedra-lover was gonna crisp you good."

"Tell me about it," said as they followed Aegis through the door and into the warmth of the inn. "I had no idea he would-"

Sylgja let out an 'oomph' as she collided with the mage. The man had stopped just inside the inn, right near the door. He wasn't moving and he was blocking the entrance.

"Hey!" Sylgja began, "Didn't we just get done talking about..." She trailed off as she looked around the mage. Derkeethus' eyes went wide and he reached for his sword.

There was a Dunmer in brown Thieves Guild armor standing in front of Aegis. Sylgja couldn't make out the elf's face, obscured by the shadow of his leather hood, but she knew it was a Dunmer because of the glaring, blood-red eyes. The thief held a dagger in his right hand, one that seemed to drip malevolence. The flickering light of the inn's fire dance across the dark weapon. The blade was edged with shining silver. Its pommel was set with spikes and curved around the blade like a crescent moon.

The point of the dagger was inches away from Aegis' throat.

"Hist save us," Derkeethus breathed. "That's Mehrunes' Razor."

Sylgja could almost feel her blood running cold. "By the Eight..."

The Dunmer spoke, his voice soft and heavy with dark intent. "I knew you'd come here, mage. You're nothing if not predictable." Sylgja could see the white of the Dark Elf's teeth as he grinned evilly. Aegis stood perfectly still and said nothing.

The thief laughed, a warm sound that was somehow beyond chilling. "I think we both know what happens next, Reman Ashwing."

"Yes," Aegis replied, his tone betraying nothing.

"I suppose I do, Ralyn Maryon."

* * *

**LM here,**

**Yeah, I'm sorry this one happened so late. Too much crap going on these days, I tell you what. ****But you didn't come here to listen to me complain, so let's get down to the things I liked about this chapter. **

**Man, I love writing these journal entries and looks into the Thalmor/Alik'r war. Bethesda has left everything so friggin' vague that I can basically write the history for Hammerfell between the years 175/180. I get to mess with whatever I want, make up battles, create characters. It's a hell of a time coming up with this stuff, but my love for Hammerfell and the Redguard culture makes all the work worth it.**

**The roads to Ivarstead from Whiterun are entirely too damn long. Either you head south and through the pass at Helgen, which we're not going to see until the proper time, or you wind around the mountain until you reach this winding dirt road that leads you across a couple of bridges (close to Darkwater Crossing), and then there's another lake you have to work your way around a friggin' lake after that. Way to force us into travelling on foot, Bethesda ;) ****Eh, I kid. I usually don't hit Ivarstead until I'm level 15 or so anyway, so exploration is a bit moot. **

**I'm enjoying seeing how all the threads between these characters interact with one another. It's fun to see how Sylgja, who's very much in tune with the 'honorable Nord' ideology, deals with Aegis, who doesn't think the word 'honor' means anything. If Sylgja seems a bit naive, no worries, it's what I'm going for. She and Derk are still new to the adventuring game and really haven't gotten into the thick of some of the tougher things (yet). I've taken to using Derkeethus as a bit of a foil for the situations they seem to come across, someone who sees both sides of the situation and is a little more practical and cautious than either of them, but it was nice to see a little more development on his part. I'm looking forward to bringing out these characters more as this story continues.**

**Anyway, that about sums it up. Oh yeah, awesome character introduction/Mehrunes Razor. Before you cry foul, I'll be explaining things in the next few chapters. You'll just have to deal with it.**

**Thanks as always for reading, and don't forget to review. I'd love to know what you guys think. **

**And yes, I'm in the process of finishing TGG 9 as we speak. Get off my case, ya' bums. (I love you all)**

**Levi Matthews**


	6. The Plan

The Plan

* * *

**Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Skyrim or the Elder Scrolls series. All credit for this story goes to the wonderful minds at Bethesda.**

**Song Credit: The majority of this chapter was written while listening to Stay With Me by Owsey and CoMa. God Bless Owsey and CoMa.**

* * *

Twenty-two years ago. 4th Era 178. Loredas the 21st, Sun's Dusk.

* * *

___Smoke filled the sky while Rihad burned. The air stank with blood and the setting sun stained the sky with yellow and bright orange. From the Aegis' vantage point it looked as if the entire port was on fire, water and all. He sighed and breathed in deep. The smell was as intoxicating as it was horrible._

___ Death was such a dramatic thing in Hammerfell. It changed people overnight. It took boys and made them into murderers. It lit the seas on fire. What kind of world was that, when even the water could burn?_

___ The Aegis cared little. He had been the instigator of the attack, standing atop the low cliff that overlooked Rihad. Hands lifted into the air, the Aegis had sent fire and death into the city below. His thoughts did not focus on the innocents that were surely dying in his burning. No, his mind was focused on the slaughter of the enemy, the slaughter of Thalmor._

___ And they were indeed slaughtered. His fire was the judgment of the Alik'r as it rained upon the Thalmor war camps, their guard posts, their command centers. He had been preparing for weeks, inscribing fire spells upon scrolls so as not to drain his magic reserves. Their ruined and burned scraps littered the ground around him. The process was tedious and often dangerous, but the Aegis knew what needed to be done in order to drive the Thalmor from Hammerfell. If that meant that parts of his soul were lost, then so be it. If that meant that some innocents had to die... his answer remained the same._

___ His bombardment had ended and the Lion had signaled for the charge to begin. Dozens of Alik'r warriors had stormed into the city, carving their way through Rihad's Thalmor occupiers with a determination that could only be rivaled by their hatred. Scimitars wept blood and carved flesh in a chorus of death that sang the screams of those being slaughtered. The Shade, ever the infiltrator, had assured sabotage of the Thalmor's war machines and command structure. As always, the Shade delivered._

___ A messenger scrabbled up the hill and approached the Aegis. His eyes were wide and fresh sweat beaded his brow. Dirt and dust covered his legs and the front of his tunic. The Aegis could see fear in the Redguard boy's eyes. He was not surprised. There were stories in the war camps that told of a man who reveled in destruction and laughed in the face of fire. They spoke of a man who slaughtered the Thalmor by the hundreds and took no prisoners. They ____spoke of a man that had once died, but the god Arkay had sent him back in sheer terror. The common soldiery tolerated the Aegis less out of respect and more out of fear._

___ Still, one addressed even the youngest and lowliest Alik'r with respect. "Al'kesh, Alik'r." Yoku, what little that remained of the Redguard language, had once been a stranger to the Aegis' lips, but time spent among them had smoothed his accent._

___ The messenger stopped and bowed. "A'lim al'kesh. Ab'zhul m'we Pelinal."_

___ Pelinal. They called him the Second Coming of the Whitestrake. It was almost laughable._

___ "Report," the Aegis said, switching back to Cyrodilic._

___ "We've got them on the run," the boy said nervously._

___ The Aegis nodded. Of course they did. "Does the Lion know?" His voice was like grating metal._

___ The messenger nodded and tried to smooth the front of his leather garb, the majority of which was stitched together from a discarded Imperial scout's armor. "She knows, sir. She's leading the rest of the main force through the side streets to flank the elves as they run to their ships. The Shade is pursuing alone. I saw him jumping from rooftops to get to the enemy."_

___ The Aegis looked out over the burning city from behind his mask of Dwemer metal. "The Shade does what he will." He looked back down at the Redguard boy. "What is your name, boy?"_

___ The messenger's eyes widened with surprise. "Naalesh, sir."_

___ The Aegis turned to face the boy, his body shifting under the massive Dwemer armor he wore. "Naalesh. Tell me, what is your age?"_

___ "I... I have just reached my thirteenth year, my lord."_

___ The Aegis shook his head. His face was an impassive grimace, bisected by the metal crest that decorated the helmet. Golden Dwemer armor covered him from head to toe. The light from the fires below glinted off of its surface. He looked like Ebonarm incarnate, standing above the burning battlefield._

___ "Naalesh," the Aegis began, his voice quiet from behind the mask. "You and I are only separated in age by twelve years. Did you know that?"_

___ Naalesh shook his head in confusion. "I did not, my lord."_

___ "My twenty-fifth year," the Aegis mused. "And yet the soldiers look upon me like I am an ancient of war. They speak of me as if I am Ebonarm Himself come to wage war. They fear me; my mask, my fire. They see what I can do and they are afraid. All this chaos and destruction." The Aegis raised his hands over the inferno below, a priest attending a blazing pulpit._

___ "We need no help from the Daedra in order to create death on this scale. Their machinations and plots are overzealous imitations of our own works. We saw that well enough at Taneth." The Aegis turned and looked the boy in the eyes. His gaze was nothing more than two black holes. "Enough of my prattling. The Lion has orders for me, does she not? She wishes me to aid in the final push?"_

___ Naalesh shook his head. "No, my lord. The Lion instructs you to proceed into the city and locate the Temple of Stendarr. Some high-rank elves and their families got separated from the main body and are holed up there. We've got them surrounded, but the Lion wants you there before we start in on them."_

___ "She wants me to lead the assault."_

___ The messenger nodded and glanced at the burning city. "The Lion says you are to take no prisoners."_

___ The man under the armor laughed darkly. "We have taken no prisoners since Taneth."_

___ Naalesh's gaze shifted to his feet. "The Lion, she says to tell you that she loves you. She asks you to be careful."_

___ "She asks too much," the Aegis spat. Naalesh looked up and his eyes went wide with shock. The armor before him was cloaked in magical, whirling flame. "And she says things without meaning them."_

___ The Aegis' right hand began to glow with arcane energy. He made a quick gesture with his armored fingers and a shimmering blue sword appeared in the air in front of him. Naalesh took a step back, fear in his eyes._

___ "Fear me not, Naalesh of the Alik'r," The Aegis said. He plucked the blade from the air as easily as one would pluck a heavy apple from a low branch. "You are not my enemy."_

___ He looked out over the burning city, his face invisible under the glowing metal of his mask. "My enemy seeks safety in the house of the God of Mercy." The Aegis said angrily. His fingers tightened around the handle of his incorporeal sword. He proceeded down the slope and toward the burning city. Fire blazed around him in a maelstrom._

___ "May He grant it to them, for I have none."_

* * *

Present Day. 4th Era 200. Sundas the 29th, Evening Star.

Four days before the advent of Morning Star, year 201

* * *

Sylgja's head was spinning.

Not that you could blame her. There was a lot going on and it had happened so quickly. One moment she had been trading whispers with Derkeethus as they entered Ivarstead's only inn, the next she found herself slowly reaching for the handle of her hammer. There was a Dunmer pointing a dagger at Aegis' throat. The dagger wasn't just a dagger, it was Mehrunes' bloody Razor. And Aegis wasn't Aegis anymore, he was Reman Ashwing. And Reman Ashwing knew the Dunmer that was wielding Mehrunes' Razor, and the Dunmer's name was Ralyn Maryon.

Inside, Sylgja groaned. It was almost to much for her to process at once. Instead she focused on drawing her hammer with as little movement as possible in order to keep the Dunmer from noticing her.

Ralyn's red eyes flashed upon her and she cursed. "My my, what have we here?" the he laughed. "You brought me a present, old friend? She is absolutely breathtaking. A natural beauty. Like the first rays of sun across a blanket of cold snow."

The Nord woman almost let her mouth drop from the shock of the elf's words. Gorgeous? Breathtaking? Sun's rays on cold snow? How dare he speak such compelling poetry about her!

Sylgja found herself staring. The Dunmer was... intimidating. It was the only word Sylgja could attribute to the figure before her. He was wrapped from head to toe in leathers, though they weren't the dark hunting-style leathers that Derkeethus wore. No, Ralyn's armor was of Riften make, softer hide browns that were carefully woven together. The armor was finely crafted and form-fitting, with buckles and straps to keep everything together. A belt sat at the elf's waist, one that was absolutely covered in small pouches and purses. Ralyn's hood was made from the same sculpted leathers and it did a masterful job of keeping his face obscured. Sylgja could only see the tip of the elf's pointed beard and the glow of his red eyes in the soft firelight of the inn. She could see the hilt and handle of an ornate elven-made longsword over the Dunmer's right shoulder.

Then he winked at her, and Sylgja found herself remembering her current situation.

"Don't you look at her," she heard Derkeethus rasp. She saw from the corner of her eye as her Argonian friend drew his steel sword in a quick motion and wrapped himself in mageflesh with a flick of his free hand. "You deal with me, you got that? Put that dagger down and I'll show you just how we deal with threats here in the Rift."

Ralyn laughed again and fixed the orbs of his eyes on Derkeethus, though his dagger remained level with Aegis' (Reman's) throat. "You've got bite," the Dunmer said with a grin, as though he was thrilled to hear it. "I do love seeing such enthusiasm, especially from the lizard-folk." His gaze settled once more on the armored mage before him and his eyes narrowed into slits. "If you'd be so kind, please introduce us."

Aegis (Reman), who hadn't said a word throughout the entire exchange, finally spoke. "The woman is Sylgja the Hammer, of Shor's Stone. The Argonian is Derkeethus, who has adopted the moniker 'Arrows-From-High'. They are adventurers of some skill."

An odd look crossed the Dunmer's eyes. "Is he-"

"I believe so," Reman said quietly. "They are a well fought pair, if not a bit naive."

Sylgja didn't know whether to be insulted by the mage's choice of words or honored that he'd introduced both her and Derkeethus with a modicum of respect. "Drop the dagger," she snarled as she slowly pulled Shieldbane off of her back. "I won't say it again."

"Ha!" the Dunmer laughed again, locking eyes with the Nord beauty once more. "And some teeth on the human too, I see. Well done, old friend. These two will do nicely." Ralyn grinned heartily and gazed at Reman once more. "Introductions go both ways, Reman. Do the honors, if you would."

Every eye in the room was fixed on the weapon-heavy display occurring by the door. Sylgja kept a steady grip on her hammer but didn't make a move. The dagger was just too close to Reman's throat. The Dunmer wouldn't even need to bother slashing in order to kill the mage. Legend maintained that Mehrunes' Razor only needed to pierce the flesh in order to kill. The slightest pinprick was a death sentence.

Amazingly calms and stoic, Reman obliged Ralyn. "Derkeethus, Sylgja, this is Ralyn Maryon."

"Come on," the Dunmer groaned. "I know you can do better than that."

"Very well," the mage said dryly. "This fine specimen of self-serving s'wit is Ralyn Maryon, also known as the Shade of Hammerfell. He is the lowest form of life I have ever encountered. He is a thief, a liar and a murderer, and that is the best that I can say of him."

"So you do love me," Ralyn cackled.

"He one of my oldest friends," Reman continued. "And out of what old friends remain, he is foremost among them."

Ralyn's gaze softened at Reman's words, though he made no move to lower the Razor. "Thank you, old friend. It is good to see you. You hardly visit anymore."

"I have little cause to travel in the Rift."

"You could write."

"I have no stationery and I have not been home in months."

"I'm aware. I've sent a few curiosities your way and I've only gotten letters because your man Argis is kind enough to write them on your behalf."

"Then he is doing his job."

"You could always send a note by courier."

"I will not argue this now, Ralyn."

"Fine." Ralyn glanced at the adventurers. "How much do they know?"

"Enough. They know we head into Dwemer deeps."

"Not that. How much do they know about you?"

Sylgja could almost see the mage tense up under his armor. "They knew me as Aegis, for starters."

"You really love your titles, don't you? Grumpy old s'wit."

"And they know of Ignis. Beyond that, nothing."

"Of course they do. Can't keep that foxy Atronach of yours hidden from anyone for long, can you?"

Sylgja glanced at Derkeethus and was somewhat relieved to see that her Argonian friend looked as confused as she felt. "Will somebody explain what in Oblivion is going on?"

Reman turned his head slightly to look at Sylgja, but only just so. The tip of the Razor was still at his throat. "Ralyn is the contact I mentioned. He will be providing the details for the next stage of our journey."

Sylgja was beyond flabbergasted. "Then why has he drawn a dagger on you?" she shouted.

Reman looked back at the Dunmer and his voice was laced with obvious irritation. "Because Ralyn enjoys showing off. It is a very nice dagger," the mage said, his words heavy with condescending. "You can put it away now."

Ralyn laughed and pulled the Razor away from Reman's throat. "You wouldn't believe what I had to do in order to acquire this damned thing," the elf said as he slid his weapon into an ornate black sheathe at his belt. "Trekked across half of Skyrim, I did."

"And I'm sure you have a rousing tale ready to be told," Reman said, some humor in his words. "Now please, if you would? It has been a tiresome day and I wish to eat."

The tension deflated almost instantly and most of the inn's patrons went back to their business. The innkeep kept an eye on the group of strangers that were still congregated by his door, but that was to be expected.

"Come," Ralyn said warmly, ushering the group away from the door. "I've got a table tucked in the shadows. Should be enough room for everyone, even if we've got five people."

Reman nodded and followed Ralyn's lead. Sylgja and Derkeethus exchanged glances, the same words written on both of their faces.

_This is crazy_.

"Wait," Sylgja said suddenly. Reman and Ralyn turned, almost simultaneously.

"There's only four of us," Sylgja asserted. "What did you mean by five?"

Ralyn grinned and waggled a finger like a parent fussing over a child. "Well, it's really six, since pretty Ignis is in Reman's head. But since bringing her into the conversation would likely give everyone in this place a fright I'd rather not have to deal with, it's just going to be the five of us. You, your scaly friend, our mutual magical acquaintance, myself and my wonderfully sociable sister."

* * *

Brelyna Maryon was out of her depth.

She had no idea what to make of the situation playing out in front of her. Ralyn's instructions had been clear, and she followed them to the letter. She'd sat at their table and watched from under her hood as her older brother held a man hostage with Mehrunes' Razor. She stayed quiet the entire time and allowed events to play out, just as her brother wanted. Not that she liked the idea of sitting on the sidelines while her brother made a scene, but Brelyna wasn't about to estrange any more of her family than she already had.

So she sat in her seat and waited until the nonsense her brother was instigating was over. The group, lead by Ralyn, made its way over to Brelyna's table and she waited, apprehensive. The winged helmet on the armored male obscured his face, but Brelyna was able to make out the confused and cautious looks on the pale Nord woman and the green Argonian. They looked as clueless as she felt. For what seemed like the hundredth time since arriving in Ivarstead, Brelyna wondered if she was making a mistake.

_No_, her mind asserted. _Ralyn wants me here. He wants my help. He wouldn't trick me or lead me astray._

Then, as if to ruin her mental declarations, Brelyna remembered a host of times when a young Rayln Maryon went out of his way to prank and trick his younger sister. She suppressed a groan and smoothed the front of her blue apprentice robes.

She shifted in her seat and watched from under her hood as the others took their places at the table. Ralyn sat next to his sister, an insufferably mischievous grin plastered across his face. The armored male sat across from the Dunmer pair and folded his hands on the tabletop. The Nord woman took a seat to the armored male's right and the Argonian sat next to her, his reptilian eyes narrowed to slits.

Ralyn placed his elbows on the table and drummed his fingers together. "Good, we're all here." He winked at Brelyna and gestured to the new arrivals. "Sister dearest, these fine folk will be travelling with us. The woman is Sylgja, the one with the scales is Arrows-From-High and the man wrapped in plate is Reman Ashwing, also known as the Aegis of Hammerfell."

"Hi there," Sylgja said, her tone warm and welcoming, if not a little cautious. The Nord woman seemed amicable enough, though the Argonian at her side continued to glare.

Brelyna just nodded. She had no idea what to expect from either Sylgja and Arrows-From-High, but the way Ralyn went on about Reman, the Breton male, she was a little intimidated by the prospect of meeting the mage.

It was as though Reman could read her thoughts. He lifted his helmet over his head and placed it on the table, revealing a scarred and shaved Breton man with bright silver eyes and black war-tattoos that sliced down his face. He looked as intimidating as anyone she had ever met.

"Your brother has spoken highly of you," the Breton said, his voice holding about the same amount of warmth as frozen rock. "It is always good to meet an aspiring mage, especially in a place such as this."

Brelyna blinked twice before answering. "I... um." She had no idea how to address the man in front of her.

Thankfully, Ralyn spared her the pain of an awkward silence. "Reman here used to be a rather prominent member of the College," her brother explained. "Back when... what was the name of the Archmage back in those days?"

Reman folded his arms and leaned back in his seat. " Fifteen years ago the College was under the leadership of Archmage Jader Amaxes. I studied there for a time, under the title of Master-Wizard. I worked alongside some of their best and brightest." He turned and looked back at Brelyna. "A few of whom are likely now your instructors, I imagine."

Brelyna's eyes widened and she made a quick bow in her seat. "Apologies, Master-Wizard. I'm Brelyna Maryon, student of-"

"Enough," Reman said, sounding irritated. Brelyna looked up to see the mage holding up an armored hand. "A title holds no meaning to someone who has abandoned it," he said quietly. "You may address me as Reman." His eyes met those of Sylgja and then Derkeethus. "And since my attempts at anonymity seem to have failed, the same applies to you." Sylgja cracked a smile and Derkeethus just rolled his eyes.

"I apologize," Brelyna said timidly. "I didn't mean to offend."

Sylgja shook her head, still smiling. "Don't worry about him, he gets takes offense way too often to be healthy. Being stoic is kind of his thing."

Ralyn and Sylgja broke into laughter at the same time, while Derkeethus' gaze softened a little and a smile curled the edges of his reptilian mouth. "Now that's an accurate representation of Reman if I've ever heard one," Ralyn stated, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. "You sure you only picked these two up recently? Because this stunning specimen seems to have you figured out already."

Sylgja was a beautiful woman. Brelyna was very much aware of that fact. Ralyn probably was too, the womanizing s'wit. The smile on Sylgja's face was enough to make a slight blush rise on the Dunmer girl's cheeks. She coughed and looked away before it became apparent.

Any rebuttal Reman might have spoken was left to the Void when a buxom Nord woman approached the table, a warm smile about her lips and her pleasant face framed by a cropping of strawberry-blonde hair. "Good evening, friends. Welcome to the Vilemyr Inn." Her voice carried a soft, Nordic trill and her smile was accented by the fullness of her lips. Her clothes were simple fare, the kind one could find anywhere in Skyrim. She wore a plain, brown dress with serving apron, neither of which did anything to detract from her full, curved figure. Her torso was covered by an off-white shirt that covered her arms while still displaying the desirably tanned skin of her neckline and shoulders.

_Oh great, _Brelyna thought. _Now there are two beautiful women to ogle at. Ralyn's going to have a field day._

"I'm Lynly Star-Sung. Is there anything I can get you?" the woman asked, her voice sweet enough to lighten even Brelyna's sour mood. "We don't have much in this little hamlet, but what we do have is sure to..." Her eyes widened as she looked down and saw the grin plastered on the Argonian's face. "Arrows! You're back!"

"And here we go," Sylgja said, rolling her eyes. There was nothing but good humor in her words and Brelyna fought to keep a confused look off of her face.

Brelyna's confusion only doubled when Lynly suddenly knelt down and wrapped her arms around Arrows-From-High's shoulders before planting a hearty kiss on the side of the Argonian's mouth. He was suddenly sheepish, though the grin never left his face. "Sooner than I expected," the lizard rasped, his voice heavy with blush. "And I told you before, you can call me Derkeethus."

Lynly beamed and gave Derkeethus a salacious wink. "But I like Arrows-From-High better. It makes you sound all mysterious and romantic."

The Argonian's grin widened further, if that was possible. "Well then, far be it from me to spoil that image."

Sylgja mock-pouted and crossed her arms. "And what am I? Chopped horker?"

Lynly laughed again and walked over to Sylgja's seat before placing a friendly hand on the woman's armored shoulder. "It's good to see you too, Syl. What're you two doing down here? I thought you were headed up to Whiterun!"

"We found ourselves some work," Derkeethus said, his smile fading a little. "I'll be honest, I'm still mostly in the dark. Sylgja insisted."

"Oh, don't you start complaining again," Sylgja snapped. She turned to Lynly. "I thought you would've spotted us earlier. I mean, you did see that scene at the door, right?"

"Actually, I was in the basement, bringing out a fresh keg of ale." Lynly spared a glance at the others seated at the table. "When I came up, Wilhelm told me to come over here and make sure you weren't going to cause any trouble. It was a bit hard to see you; this table is tucked in the shadows." Lynly's eyes narrowed a little. "Your friends aren't going to cause any trouble, are they?"

Brelyna watched as Sylgja shifted her gaze and deliberately locked eyes with Reman. "I don't think it'll be a problem. Will it, Reman?"

The mage didn't bat an eyelash. "I make no promises."

Ralyn huffed, unimpressed. "Oh knock it off, you grumpy fetcher." He leaned across the table slightly and held out a hand to Lynly, his eyes full of roguish mischief. "You may call me Ralyn, my dear. Had I known such a stunning vision of beauty was within such proximity, I would've arrived sooner."

Lynly's smile widened and she allowed Ralyn to kiss her outstretched hand. "You have quite a way with words, serjo."

Ralyn leaned back in his seat and laughed. "And the language of the Dunmer falls from her lips like the petals of rain-flowers. I sit, stunned by your voice and visage." He winked at Derkeethus, who was glaring daggers at the elven thief.

"Enough of this," Reman snapped. "I have not eaten since morning and I will not sit here and starve while you cluck like hens."

If Lynly took offense at Reman's attitude, it didn't show on her face. "Of course mi'lord, my apologies. What can I get for you? We're a bit limited as far as variety is concerned, as I said earlier. But what we do have is more than palatable, and we have a lot of it."

Sylgja was the first to order. "I'll have whatever soup you have hot and ready."

"We've got some beef stew on the pot, if you're inclined to it."

"Sounds fantastic. Any cold mead?"

"Of course. We have your standard fare, plus some bottles of Honningbrew and a shipment of fresh Black-Briar-"

"A bottle of the Black-Briar," Sylgja said excitedly.

"And one for me," Derkeethus added. "If you've got any venison or mutton, I'll have that too."

Lynly shot Derkeethus another wink. "You'll get the finest cut of mutton we have." She turned to the Dunmer. "And you two?"

"A Black-Briar for me," Ralyn said. "Any fresh fish?"

"A few salmon and a pair of histcarp that I caught this morning."

"Salmon steak, then." Ralyn turned to his sister. "Brelyna?"

"Clam chowder?" she asked.

"Sure," Lynly said, still smiling. "I made some this morning, so I'll have to heat it a bit over the fire, is that okay?"

"That's fine," Brelyna said. "And just a glass of alto wine, if you have it."

"I'll uncork it right away." Lynly looked down at Reman, a playful look in her eyes. "And you, lord hungry? What can I get for you?"

"A plate of grilled leeks and baked potatoes." The mage said, no humor in his voice. "I'll also require two loaves of bread..." he shot Ralyn a glare. "And a wheel of goat cheese."

"Ha!" Ralyn exclaimed. "Some things never change."

Sylgja gave Ralyn a puzzled look. "What do you mean-"

"He loves cheese," the Dunmer stated, grinning. "It's the reason he came to Skyrim in the first place. 'Nords make the best cheese in the entirety of Tamriel'. That's me quoting him, by the way." Reman grumbled something incoherent and didn't deny a word.

Lynly raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. "And to drink?" she asked the Breton.

"A cup of milk."

The whole table was looking at the mage. He didn't bat an eyelash. "I do not imbibe in alcohol," he stated flatly.

"He's not joking," Ralyn muttered. "I think he was the only soul in Hammerfell who didn't drink. He might be the only one in Skyrim too, for that matter."

"I'll bring out the food as soon as it's ready," Lynly declared. "I'll return shortly with your drinks." She left the group sitting around the table, but not before leaning in and planting another kiss on Derkeethus' forehead. "You make sure to let me know when you want a little music, Arrows." She sauntered off, a wide grin on her face.

Derkeethus did his best to look composed as he rubbed the side of his neck. "That woman is going to be the death of me," he muttered.

Ralyn applauded warmly. "Good on you, Arrows-From-High. Wouldn't have pegged you to be that cozy to a pretty piece like that, but I do love surprises." The Dunmer leaned forward and his voice took on a furtive tone. "How is she in the straw? With a voice like that, I bet the sex is a lullaby of moans."

Derkeethus at least had the decency to look mortified. Brelyna's eyes narrowed and she cut the conversation short with a swift smack against the back of Ralyn's head. "Enough of that, you incorrigible s'wit."

"Ow!" Ralyn rubbed the assaulted skin and put on his most ashamed look. "Was just a bit of fun, sister dear! No need for violence."

Brelyna wasn't about to fall for her brother's tricks. Not after years of putting up with them. "I haven't heard from you in three _years, _brother. And then out of the blue you write and tell me you want me to be part of some mysterious excursion into the depths of some Dwemer ruin? Can you just tell us what's going on?"

"I'm with her," Derkeethus growled, having regained his composure. "I'm tired of following the shadows of an expedition I know damn near nothing about. I want some answers."

"Likewise," Sylgja stated, the humor long gone from her voice. "We're not going any further until we know what we're getting into."

A dark grin split Ralyn's shadowed face and he leaned forward in his seat. "Fear not. You'll get your answers. Of course, like any good adventure, a story needs to be told before we get into the details." He reached down, his movements obscured by the wood of the table. When his hand surfaced again, it was cradling a black cube inscribed with glowing red runes. The air around the cube seemed to throb, as if displaced by some hidden, pulsing energy.

"Gather round, children. Let this humble thief tell you about the depths of Avanchnzel."

* * *

Reman's face remained stoic, but his heart was racing. "You have a Dwemer Lexicon," he breathed, "An _active_ Dwemer Lexicon." His fingers twitched, as though they were only moments away from reaching out and seizing the cube.

Sylgja's eyes narrowed. "You didn't know about this?"

Reman shook his head, his gaze never leaving the Dwemer cube. "I would not have bothered to stop in Whiterun had I known." He glanced up at Ralyn. "Why did you keep this from me?"

Ralyn sighed heavily, his theatrical buildup ruined. "Because I knew you'd overreact. Well, that and I didn't want every would-be Dwemer scholar in Tamriel trying to hunt me down. Being a thief is hard enough without drawing attention to oneself. Though I suppose I can't avoid it all of the time." He winked at Sylgja and Brelyna groaned. "After all, with looks like mine, it's hard not to be noticed."

Derkeethus looked around the room. "Aren't you nervous about having it out in the open? Didn't you just say that people would hunt you if they knew you had this... thing?"

Ralyn smirked and pulled his hood back. The face beneath it was illuminated by the flickering firelight and revealed the elf's features. His light brown hair was cut short and slicked back out of his face. His beard was little more than long stubble and shaped around the point of his elfin chin. Aside from a few premature wrinkles under Ralyn's eyes, the Dunmer's face was free of any sort of blemish.

"Illusion magic is fairly potent," Ralyn explained. "And my control over it is more developed than most. Right now everyone who isn't sitting at this table is seeing something else. Something interesting but of no value, I assure you."

Lynly returned, a tray of drinks in her hand. She set the bottled meads on the table first and Derkeethus was quick to begin drinking his down. She set a glass of wine in front of Brelyna and then moved over and placed a small cup in front of Reman. "And here's your milk, mi'lord." Lynly looked up and cocked an eyebrow quizzically. "How did you manage to catch a luna moth in a jar?"

Derkeethus promptly coughed on his mead and shifted back in his seat. Lynly walked over the the sputtering Argonian and patted his back affectionately.

"Quite something, isn't it?" Ralyn was all but shaking trying to keep the laughter at bay. He shook the cube a little, as though he was trying to stir a creature confined within the walls of a glass prison. "It takes a bit of patience. You don't want to scar them, after all. What good is a moth without its wings?"

Lynly pouted a little. "I do hope you plan on letting that poor thing go. Nothing deserves to be trapped like that."

"Do not fret, oh lovely maiden. My intent was only to show my companions a curiosity. I have every intent of returning this prize to its resting place, I assure you."

Lynly gave Ralyn a strange look before leaving again. Brelyna placed her arms on the table and gave her brother a sidelong glance. "You never told me your magic had improved this much. I just assumed you were using a charm spell to keep things amicable, but you've really been hiding this Lexicon the whole time."

Ralyn grinned and let the cube rest in the center of the table. "As if I would need a charm spell when my own natural wit is more than enough. That being said, I've learned a few things since our last visit, sister dear. Not all of us need a school to teach us the magic we need to survive."

Brelyna glared at her brother for a moment before looking back at the cube. "So you found yourself a Dwemer Lexicon. If you already have it, why are we trekking into a Dwemer ruin? We've already got the prize sitting right here in front of us."

Reman nodded and shifted his gaze away from the cube to look into Ralyn's eyes. "My questions echo her own. This is..." his breathing was a little heavy, "This is a find without peer. The entire archive of Avanchnzel... the recorded memories of the ancient Dwemer... You were right to keep it a secret." His eyes fixed upon the Lexicon once more. "But what could you possibly gain by returning to Avanchnzel now? For that matter, how did you make your way into the central chamber in the first place?"

Sylgja sat back a little in her seat, quietly sipping her mead. Reman sounded... he sounded awed, furious, and confused all at the same time. It was... strange, to think of Reman being uncertain. She hadn't known the man for more than a few days, but he offered nothing but confidence in himself and his strange ideals. Sylgja also had no idea just how valuable a Dwemer 'Lexicon' was, but by the almost frantic look in Reman's eyes, she realized that the mage looked as though he was staring at something life-changing.

She glanced at Derkeethus momentarily and the Argonian met her gaze. He had that look on his face again, the one that explained just how in the dark he felt. He shrugged and went back to his mead.

Ralyn chuckled a little and picked up the cube once more before sliding it back into the pouch at his belt. "Oh, you couldn't be more mistaken. I've never been to Avanchnzel. Never set a foot inside the place. I didn't even know it existed until about a week ago."

Quiet settled over the table. Sylgja looked around at the others. Derkeethus was staring blandly at his mead, as though bored with the situation. The glare Brelyna was sending Ralyn's way screamed, 'What in Oblivion are you talking about?' Ralyn himself had a smug little grin plastered across his roguish features and his eyes twinkled with some hidden joke.

Reman... Reman looked as though he would explode without warning at any moment.

Sylgja nudged Derkeethus slightly to get her friend's attention. Derkeethus' glanced at her quizzically before his gaze settled on Reman. The mage's nostrils were flared and his eyes had taken on a sheen that bordered on madness. Derkeethus' eyes went wide and he sat up straight in his seat.

Ralyn's grin only grew as he gazed at his volatile friend. "Aren't you going to ask-"

What happened next was so quick that Sylgja couldn't see more than a blur. Reman reached across the table and grabbed Ralyn by the neckline of his tunic. He pulled the Dunmer halfway onto the table, an act that made Ralyn's torso knock over his bottle of mead. Reman's face was painted with dark fury. The lines in his neck stood out like roots across a stone. His fists shook as they grasped at the elf's armor.

"Do. Not. Toy. With. Me." Each word was deliberate and full of poison. "You will tell me how you acquired this, and you will do it now."

Ralyn, to his credit, didn't look the slightest bit intimidated, even as Reman held him in a vice-like grip. "Or you'll what? Kill me? You don't have the stones, old friend. And even if you did, do you have any idea how many innocent people would die if we decided to go to war with each other?"

"I do not care."

Ralyn's grin was as cold as it was infuriatingly handsome. "Yes you do. I see through your armor, mage. You can talk big and make all the threats you want, but you'd give up a dream before you burned another village to the ground." His grin widened and whites of his teeth dazzled in the firelight. "You've gone soft, Aegis."

A silence passed between the two before any movement was made. Brelyna stood up and conjured a spike of ice in her hand, aiming it squarely at Reman's unprotected head. "Put him down," she commanded. Her voice dripped an authority that Sylgja hadn't heard until that moment. "I know your Breton blood will stop a portion of this magic, but it'll still be enough ice to pin your head to the wall."

Slowly but surely, either due to the Brelyna's threat or Ralyn's words, Reman relinquished his hold on the Dunmer thief. Sylgja sighed with relief as Brelyna dismissed the conjured ice and took her seat. Both men did the same.

Reman's teeth gritted together. "My... apologies, Ralyn. I did not-"

The thief held up a hand while the other righted his mead bottle. "Save it. The Reman Ashwing I know doesn't apologize for anything."

Sylgja kept her mouth shut. Her earlier confrontation with Reman outside the inn was in direct conflict with Ralyn's statement, but she wasn't about to complicate the situation.

Ralyn's grin hadn't faded in the slightest. "See, I was about to get into what happened, but we got off topic. I suppose that much can be forgiven, considering how hungry you are and the fact that I dropped a dragon into your lap."

"Everything all right over here?" Lynly asked as she walked over, plates of food cradled in her hands and in the crooks of her arms. "Did you spill your mead, serjo?"

"Everything's fine," Derkeethus said, looking up at Lynly. "Just a little accident is all."

Ralyn nodded an affirmative. "I apologize. I'm not usually this clumsy, I swear. I'm fine, thank you."

Lynly looked dubious but didn't say anything. She walked over and served the travelers one by one, starting with Brelyna and Sylgja. Ralyn and Reman were next in line to receive their food, though Lynly needed a bit of extra time to get all of the mage's food arranged on the table. Each meal was splendidly cooked and smelled heavenly. Sylgja could hardly believe how thick her stew was and Ralyn judged that a salmon steak had never looked juicier. Finally Lynly set down a steaming plate of spiced mutton in front of Derkeethus, a generous cut with a side of freshly cut green apple.

Derkeethus looked down at his plate with a little shock. "I... thank you, Lynly. You didn't have to do all this."

"Yes I did," she said, very matter-of-fact. "You and Sylgja are my best customers. Besides, it's not often that I get to serve a grand feast like this." She leaned down next to Derkeethus, the swell of her breasts displayed invitingly to the Argonian, and, to a lesser extent, the others sitting at the table. Sylgja noticed Brelyna blush and look away.

Lynly's breath was hot against the flat of Derkeethus' ear analogue. "You just let me know if you want any... desert."

Derkeethus gulped audibly and shifted nervously in his seat. "I... I'll let you know, Lynly. Thank you."

She laughed and danced away, leaving the group to their food. Derkeethus did his best to ignore the looks everyone was sending his way. "Let's eat!" he said, barely managing the distracting enthusiasm he was going for.

Ralyn laughed again and started cutting into his salmon. "I don't think I've ever been jealous of an Argonian before. Shadows preserve me, she looked like she was going to drag you under the table."

Sylgja grinned as she swallowed a mouthful of stew. The beef melted in her mouth, the vegetables and beans were plentiful and the broth was perfect. "That's our Arrows-From-High. Ladies' lizard extraordinaire."

"Can we talk about something other than my love life?" Derkeethus pleaded.

"Why?" Ralyn asked through a mouthful of salmon. "You're obviously not... pardon me, this is delicious." He chewed for a moment and made a series of appreciative noises. "You're obviously not bunking alone tonight. And the trysts of others always make for such bountiful gossip."

"Can we please get back on topic at hand?" Brelyna asked, sounding about as exasperated as Reman felt. She scooped up a spoonful of chowder and popped it into her mouth. "Magnus!" she exclaimed, eyes wide, "This is great!"

Reman speared a leek on his fork and took a reserved bite. The cooked vegetable was warm yet still crunchy. It didn't take long for the hot food to cool Reman's mood a little. "This has been well-prepared," he admitted after he had swallowed a mouthful. "I am of the same mind as your kin, Ralyn. What exactly are we doing here, if you already have the Lexicon?" He paused for a moment. "Knowing you, I suspect that you would have sold it were it not for some outside factor."

Ralyn carved another piece of salmon off of the steak and chewed for a moment before speaking. "The Lexicon is cursed," he said quietly.

Sylgja, Derkeethus and Brelyna all stopped eating at almost the same moment and slowly edged their chairs away from the table.

"Relax," Ralyn asserted. "It only affects people who have touched it. You're fine unless you decide to grab the damn thing." The elf's voice was suddenly tired, as though all his earlier exuberance had been washed away.

Brelyna scooted her chair closer to her brother and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Ralyn... why didn't-"

"I'll be fine," he said, giving his sister a soft, supportive smile. "If all goes according to plan, there won't be anything to worry about."

"What manner of curse is it?" Reman asked, his voice low.

"It's affected my sight. I see... it shows me images of the dead, people I knew. Sometimes I see people I didn't know. They torment me at rather... inopportune moments." He chuckled a little. "It seems I can't pinch a purse off of a noble without some ghost popping up and ruining my concentration."

"And you're the only one who sees these ghosts?" Sylgja asked as she ate another spoonful of stew.

"As far as I can tell. They don't look like usual ghosts. They're articulate, full-fleshed and glow with a sort of transparent orange. They also speak, though it seems that they only speak things that have happened in the past."

"That does not sound like any undead I have ever encountered," Reman stated. "It sounds more like illusion magic. A very powerful spell, if it is as persistent as you say."

Ralyn nodded. "I talked to a mage that I've been working with and he reasoned along the same lines. I've spoken to several mages since then, none of them were able to dispel the curse. I knew what I needed to do the moment I realized that the Lexicon was the source of my troubles."

"Has anyone touched it besides you?" Reman's gaze was clouded with worry. Sylgja grew nervous at that.

Ralyn shook his head. "No. I didn't want to sell it without contacting you first. I also wasn't about to trust my colleges in the Thieves Guild with something like this. They're about as honorable as thieves get, but they're still thieves."

"That's the most sensible thing I've heard all day," Derkeethus muttered. He popped a slice of apple into his wide mouth and chewed vigorously.

"Why did you want Aeg- I mean Reman to see this... thing before you sold it?" Sylgja asked.

Ralyn laughed and took another bite of salmon. "You didn't tell her, old friend? These two signed on with you without knowing much of anything."

"I study the Dwemer as a hobby," Reman said flatly. "I am considered by some to be an... authority on Dwemer artifacts and ruins."

Ralyn snorted and took a sip from his depleted mead. "An 'authority' he says." He leaned forward and looked into Sylgja's eyes. "This man has forgotten more about the Dwemer than most of us will ever learn. He's lead half a dozen expeditions into Dwemer deeps and knows their inner workings better than anyone alive."

"He exaggerates," Reman stated. "Calcelmo has-"

"Never braved a Dwemer ruin alone and walked back out again," Ralyn said, cutting the mage off. "You know more about these sorts of things than anyone, Reman. I'm not about to trust anyone but you when it comes to leading this thing. I'm certainly not going to Sorine Jurard or Katria."

"And why not? The are both experts in their fields and-"

"Because they're not _you_." Ralyn snapped. His voice had taken on an irritated tone. "Sorine is one step shy of mad and I'm not about to trust Katria with something this big."

Reman went silent for a moment. The others looked on as they quietly ate their meals. "You still haven't explained how you managed to get your hands on the Lexicon without entering Avanchnzel," the mage said as he sipped his milk.

Derkeethus nodded as he munched on his mutton. "I was curious about that as well. Did you steal it off of someone?"

Sylgja shot a glare at Derkeethus and the Argonian winced. "What?" he asked as he swallowed. "He said he was a thief, didn't he? I'm just trying to put all the facts together."

Ralyn smiled and patted the Argonian on the shoulder. "That intuition will get you far, Arrows-From-High. But it's not the case this time. I was given the Lexicon by an Argonian woman I met on the Riften docks."

"And you didn't bring her here too?" Brelyna asked.

Ralyn sighed and shook his head. "I didn't know what was happening at the time. This was over by the Fishery, away from the eyes of the guards. I was waiting for a contact, someone with freelance work for me, but they were late. I didn't see the poor lizard until she was moving toward me. Thought she was strung out on skooma." The candlelight flickered a little as the thief began telling his tale and his voice lowered accordingly.

"Wrapped in tattered hide, she was. Eyes red with sleepless nights. Thin, as though she hadn't eaten in weeks. The poor creature was diseased, palsied. She scrambled toward me as I passed by, holding out her hand. I thought she was after a handout. Riften is thicker with beggars than with thieves, but some are both." He shrugged. "I digress. Stumbled toward me she did, muttering madness and twitching with pain. I watched, perplexed, as she approached, claw extended. She clutched the Lexicon in her outstretched grip, as if she feared its very touch."

"I stood there, perplexed, as she fell to her knees. She might have been desirable at one point, the poor dear, but her frame was wasted and her face haggard. She held up the Lexicon to me, the light of the day glinting off of its dark surface. 'You,' she rasped, 'You must take the Lexicon. Free me of my burden.'"

Ralyn paused for a moment and downed the last of his mead. "When I inquired further as to what she meant, the woman didn't seem to hear me. 'The memories,' she said, her eyes rolling about in their sockets, 'I cannot stand them. You must take them away, take them to Avanchnzel. You must take the Lexicon from me. Please...' She was all but pleading at that point. 'Take it now,' she whispered."

Ralyn went quiet for a moment. "I was curious, my best and most damnable trait. I took the Lexicon from her claw and held it in my hand. I gazed into its surface for a moment, admiring the simple beauty of the cube and wondering what kind of price I would gain from such a prize. My greed..." he trailed off again and he stared at his plate.

Brelyna was the one to draw her brother from his melancholy. "What happened to the Argonian woman?"

Ralyn looked up at his sister with a sad smile. "She died, of course. It was as though the Lexicon was keeping her alive. Freed of its burden, she passed from this plane. I never even learned her name."

He took another bite of salmon. "Now her burden is mine. I've been staving off the effects of the curse as much as I've been able, but..." Ralyn sighed heavily and Reman realized just how tired his friend looked. "The dead haunt my dreams. They plague my steps as I walk through the day. I fear I will go mad soon if I am not rid of this curse."

Reman nodded. "And the only way to lift the curse-"

"Is to return the Lexicon to where it belongs," Sylgja finished.

Ralyn gave Sylgja a tired wink. "Beautiful and wise. You always did have a knack for finding the right sorts, Reman."

"Can't you just throw the damn thing away?" Derkeethus asked.

Ralyn snorted and finished off his salmon. "If only it were that simple. This curse seems to have affected my ability to discard the Lexicon. I feel intense pain in my heart if I even consider abandoning the blasted thing. I fear I would kill myself if I gave it up."

Derkeethus' eyes went wide. "I can see how that would be a problem," he said softly.

Brelyna, somewhat put off her meal, pushed her bowl of chowder over to her brother. "I knew there was something you weren't telling us. Eat. You'll need your strength."

Ralyn nodded and proceeded to eat a little of the chowder. "So, in short, we're going into Avanchnzel to return a priceless artifact. As a professional thief, the irony is almost palpable, but I'd rather be without a treasure and alive than with one and dead."

Derkeethus, finished with his meal, pushed his plate away and sighed. "So what kind of payday are we supposed to get from a place that's already been looted?"

Sylgja elbowed her friend in the gut. "Derkeethus!" she hissed, "I can't believe you!"

The Argonian rubbed his side and snarled his response. "I'm looking out for us!" He turned to Ralyn, his tone softer. "Look, I'm sorry about this curse of yours, I really am, but I have to look out for Syl and myself. I have obligations. Things I'm working toward." He glanced over his shoulder at Lynly, who was sitting in a lone chair and tuning her lute. "I can't afford to risk my life without promise of payment."

Ralyn nodded. "I understand." He glanced at Sylgja for a moment. "Your friend is right, Sylgja. I wouldn't presume to risk your lives for nothing, seeing as my life is only worth what I place on it. You don't know me well enough to call me friend and I understand that." He leaned forward in his seat and placed his elbows on the table. "However, I am not without the means to pay for mercenary work. Assist my sister and I in this expedition and I will pay you 500 septims each, plus expenses. It will be up to the three of you," he glanced at Reman, "to decide how you wish to divide whatever loot we will find inside."

Derkeethus' jaw went slack at the same time Sylgja's eyes became as wide as plates. "Five hundred?" the Nord wondered aloud.

"Plus expenses," Ralyn reiterated. "That includes tonight's meal." He winked at Derkeethus. "And rooms for the night. Though I suspect some of us will be getting their beds at cost regardless."

Derkeethus mumbled something under-breath and Sylgja shook with laughter. Ralyn held out his hand to the Nord woman from across the table. "Do we have a deal?"

Sylgja took a moment and looked at Derkeethus. The Argonian just shrugged and smiled.

"You have a deal," Sylgja said. She grasped Ralyn's hand and gave it a single, firm shake.

Ralyn grinned and leaned back in his seat. "Excellent. Now Reman, I assume you've gone over what they'll be fighting once we descend into the ruin?"

"They know we will be fighting Animunculi," the mage said, his voice as stony as ever. "I was waiting to give them the details until the deal was struck."

A laugh from the thief countered Reman's stoic tone. "A good call," Ralyn proclaimed. "After all, it wouldn't do to have our hired help run before they're invested in our little endeavor."

Reman nodded toward Brelyna. "Has she braved Dwemer deeps before?"

Ralyn shook his head. "No, but I gave her the basic rundown. I assumed you would go over the details once we were all together."

The armored mage shook his head. "Tomorrow, in anticipation. We will have a while of traveling on foot before we reach the ruin, and it will be more than enough time for a lesson. Better alert with knowledge in the morning." Reman turned to Brelyna, his eyes hard. "Ralyn mentioned that you had some skill in frost magic."

The Dunmer woman cocked an eyebrow. "The ice spike I aimed at your face wasn't proof of that?"

"Irrelevant," Reman stated. "I need a list of the spells you know. I don't care how adept you are at using them. I need to know what you're capable of."

Brelyna looked at her brother, who nodded an affirmative. The Dunmer mage sighed and locked eyes with her Breton counterpart. "I know a few apprentice healing spells and turn undead spells. My wards are adept-level. I can cast magelight, either around my person or at a distance. I've mastered the ironflesh spell and I can channel it through my robes for additional protection."

"Any illusion spells?"

Brelyna shrugged. "A few that I learned from Master Neloren. The standard set: fury, calm and fear. They're probably adept-level by now, but I hardly use them."

"They will be useless against Animunculi. Remember that."

"He's not joking," Ralyn stated. "Casting a fear spell on a Dwemer automaton is about as useful as fighting off a mudcrab with your feet."

"Conjuration?" Reman asked.

Brelyna sighed and took a sip from her glass before continuing. "Not much," she admitted. "The spells I know are basic to adept-level. I can summon a frost Atronach and keep it in this plane for a good while, fully bound to my whims. My familiar is a large raven, icy beak and claws. Oh, and I know the basic soul-trap spell. I haven't figured out how to summon weapons though."

"It takes some practice," Reman conceded. "And your destruction spells?"

Sylgja saw a flash of pride in Brelyna's eyes. "Expert-level," the Dunmer mage stated. "Mostly frost-based spells. Some lightening spells, but they're not as developed. I can create a blizzard in my hands and send it out to freeze my enemies in a cloud of whirling, sharp snow. Failing that, it's not many a foe that can stand against a hail of magical ice shards." She wanted to glare daggers at the Breton for calling her abilities as a mage into question, but she kept her face composed.

"Your confidence is refreshing," Reman said as he plucked a loaf of bread from the table and tore off a chunk of it. "Most apprentice mages fail to embrace the confidence needed for higher-level magical application." He chewed thoughtfully on the bread for a moment before swallowing. "The bread and cheese are for everyone," he stated. "I could not hope to consume an entire cheese wheel by myself."

"Not for lack of trying," Ralyn said as he reached out to cut into the cheese. "Watch out now, if you eat too much of the cheese he'll take one of your fingers as recompense."

Sylgja laughed and took a piece of cheese for herself. "I'll take my chances."

"So we're all caught up, right?" Derkeethus asked. "I mean, we're all on board and we know what the plan is, yeah?"

"Seems so," Brelyna said, tearing a piece of bread for herself. "Anyone else feel like this is going to end badly?"

Derkeethus chuckled and raised a claw slightly. Ralyn laughed and did the same with a weary hand. After a moment, both Sylgja and Reman added their own. Sylgja's smile was sunshine and there was a whisper of a grin on Reman's lips.

Lynly walked over, an eyebrow cocked quizzically as she looked at the table's worth of raised hands. "And just what is this?" she inquired, looking at Derkeethus.

Ralyn grinned mischievously and licked his lips. "Just seeing which of us think that Arrows-From-High here is going to be hot-bunking tonight."

Derkeethus' hand dropped like a rock falling out of the sky. Ralyn threw his head back and howled laughter. Sylgja was shaking to keep hers in. Reman, his hand lowered as well, shook his head and tucked into another piece of cheese. Brelyna was glaring at her brother again.

"Is that so?" Lynly said, her voice like a knife across a stone floor.

Derkeethus gulped audibly. "That's not what we were talking about!" he exclaimed, "We were just-"

He was cut off as Lynly bent down and placed her hands on either side of his face before pressing her lips to his in a heated kiss. The Argonian's muffled protests were cut off as he descended into bliss and his arms went limp at his sides.

Ralyn cocked an eyebrow and tucked a bit of cheese into his mouth. "I'll say it again, I'm a little jealous of the lizard right now."

Lynly broke the kiss and straightened, a slight flush to her cheeks. "Hot-bunking?" she said to a dazed Derkeethus. "Whatever made you think that you _weren't_ sleeping in my bed tonight?"

Derkeethus made a few noises that eventually became words. "I... we... you..."

"But not until after my shift is over," Lynly stated flatly. "I hope you aren't leaving early tomorrow, Arrows-From-High. You aren't getting any sleep tonight." With that said she departed, laughing merrily, the sound of her voice sweeter than any honey.

Brelyna shook her head and took another sip from her glass. "I'll admit, it's refreshing to see a Nord woman who isn't a total prude."

"I'll second that," Ralyn stated. The Dunmer stood and raised his empty mead into the air. "I propose a toast. I don't know how Nords usually do this sort of thing, but toasting Dunmer traditionally say something they're looking forward to. Everyone participates."

One by one the table's occupants stood, their drinks raised. Derkeethus looked a little unsteady on his feet and he was grinning like a loon, but he managed to keep himself together.

Ralyn started. "To the death of curses and the fond memories I will have of this meeting," he said, his enthusiasm darkened by the severity of his condition.

Sylgja nodded. "To new friends," she said with a smile.

"Warm skin," Derkeethus said, his eyes elsewhere. He blanched and then added, "Fame and fortune. Yes. Those things."

Brelyna smirked and raised her glass a little. "To a little adventure."

Everyone was looking at Reman, the only one who hadn't toasted yet. He looked at all of them, unsure of what to say. Thankfully, Ignis gave him the words he needed. He spoke as she recited them in his mind.

"To the morrow," they said in tandem, one mouth and two minds. "To the rising of the sun. May we carry its warmth with us as we descend into the cold deeps."

Sylgja's mouth gaped a little. Derkeethus and Brelyna were looking at him with something like admiration.

Ralyn just rolled his eyes. "No fair getting outside help," he snorted. He set his empty bottle on the table as the others took their drinks. The night wasn't over and Ralyn Maryon wasn't about to be outdone.

"Another round for my new friends," he said loudly. "Oblivion take me, a round for everyone!"

The inn erupted into a chorus of scattered cheers. Ralyn clapped his hands together and laughed. Derkeethus shouted to Lynly and the Nord bard began strumming a lively tune on her lute. Sylgja, her face flush with good-nature, pulled a stunned-looking Brelyna away from the table and initiated a poorly-planned dance with the Dunmer woman. They were both giggling as they stumbled around each other, while the other patrons clapped loudly and kept the beat.

Reman looked on. He didn't smile. He didn't join in the reverie. He was content to watch others make fools of themselves.

_It is good to see you like this_, Ignis whispered in his mind. _Wanting things you claim to not want. It is good to see you bask in happiness, even if it is only the happiness of others._

_Do not think much of it, _Reman retorted, his thoughts flat and without humor. _This is only fleeting. Soon they will be gone from my life, and I from theirs._

_As you say, my love. You know yourself best, after all._ Her warm laughter filled his mind.

Reman knew he had no place among the foolish, the young, the joyful. He was a cold thing, a bitter thing. Unceasing burdens rested upon his shoulders, and he would be remiss to shrug them off even for a moment.

Still, as a radiant Sylgja danced clumsily around a laughing Brelyna, he found himself wishing that such things were not the case.

* * *

**LM here,**

**I apologize for the lateness here, I've been working almost non-stop these last few months and its really taken its toll on my writing. This chapter in particular was difficult, not just because of how long it is compared to some of the others, but because of how much friggin' _dialogue_ is in this installment. **

**This is essentially an info/character-drop chapter and I'm aware of that. We get to meet Ralyn, his sister Brelyna and the saucy Lynly Star-Sung. I had a particularly fun time writing Lynly's character and Brelyna warmed to me as well. I knew from the onset that Ralyn was going to be a stereotypical dashing-self absorbed rogue type, and I'm pleased with how he's turning out so far. All the character interaction was a blast to write, if not a little tedious. Getting these characters to sit and discuss their plans got a lot easier once Lynly dropped some food and drink in front of them, I tell you what.**

**Reman apparently has a thing for cheese. I'll never be able to take him seriously again. :P**

**Derkeethus is so cute when he's flustered. I can't even begin to tell you how hilarious it was to write those scenes. **

**Anyway, that's enough babbling on my part. Lemme know what you think, I always like hearing from you guys.**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Levi Matthews**


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